Becoming Sam
by MoonlightTaylor
Summary: 'At the door Dean said, "Watch out for Adam, huh, little bro?" And mussed up Sam's floppy hair.' Adam's mother is killed by ghouls when he is young and John takes him in. The family dynamic shifts. For Sam everything changes and nothing does. Pre-series AU.
1. Chapter 1

_Title:_ _ **Becoming Sam**_

 _Summary: '_ At the door Dean said, "Watch out for Adam, huh, little bro?" And mussed up Sam's floppy hair.' Adam's mother is killed by ghouls when he is young and John takes him in. The family dynamic shifts. For Sam everything changes and nothing does. Pre-series AU.

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own Supernatural or anything else that is even vaguely recognisable.

 _Author's Note:_ For the sake of artistic freedom, I have made Adam slightly older than he would have been. He was born in '88 instead of '90. And in this universe, Sam has a few visions when he's younger. Also, this is my first AU, so though I hope I did the characters justice, they may be OOC.

 _Warnings:_ Nothing but the occasional swearword. Though if I missed anything, please let me know and I will edit the warnings!

 ** _Chapter 1: Search for the truth_**

Adam had been there almost as far back as Sam could remember. Sure, there were vague images of tables for three, half-there feelings of Dean's utter devotion. But they were barely hanging on the vestiges of his mind and he knew they would soon disappear. Only one memory of before remained, a dream, violent and vivid, forever seared in his retina. He had known Adam would come.

That day, the day that Adam came, that was also something that Sam could remember with startling clarity. Dean had been angry, he recalled, resentful of a brother from another mother. Then Dad had brought Adam in, a one-year-old with hazel eyes and sand-coloured hair. Just like that the anger had evaporated, only a residual bitterness towards John remaining.

Dad never gave an explanation for Adam's appearance, but Sam had known that the mother had died.

Somehow, the little boy naturally become Sam's responsibility. Perhaps it was because he wasn't as loud or as big as the others. Perhaps it was Sam's feeling of guilt towards the magnitude of responsibility that already weighted Dean's shoulders. With the arrival of Adam, Sam slipped out of the little brother skin. He was no longer the burden to be protected, he was the protector now, and he loved the job with all his heart.

Still, Dean was always the protector in chief. When Dad went out, it was Dean who went down the list of what to do. It was Dean who provided food, protection and kisses on their scrapes and bruises. But the words had changed now.

"Watch out for Adam." Dad would warn, then at the door as an afterthought, "And Sammy too."

That always confused Sam a bit. Was he supposed to be protected, too? Or was he supposed to protect Adam, too? Sam opted for both. He let Dean be the big boss, but he still took care of Adam.

Sure, Dean did the big things. He protected them from monsters and saved them from bullies and CPS. But Sam took care of the little things. He protected Adam from nosy teachers, from hearing Dean's profanity and seeing all the porn that their motel-rooms offered. He took Adam outside when Dad was in a mood, and secretly fed him fruit when he could. Because Mrs. Laurance had told him that you couldn't be healthy without fruit.

Dean got used to the new dynamics quickly, his dose of younger sibling now doubled. It worked well, he let Sam do the 'chick-flick' moments and shoulder some responsibility, but he watched over them both. As was a big brother prerogative. That was fine with Sam. He was tired of being the one that everyone belittled and happy to pass that fate over to someone else, but he still needed Dean.

Of course, being a big brother was not all fun and games. It meant sitting down at a table with Dad and Dean as they told him that monsters existed. That the weird thing that came into his room and made him feel tired last year was real. Dean looked really guilty at that and while Sam nodded solemnly at Dad, he shot his big brother a smile to cheer him up. It didn't work.

Sam sat up at night sometimes, then. He would think of all the bad things in the world that could be monsters. Think of all the times that his family had lied to him before. It had hurt, knowing that this entire life had been a lie, and he wished it hadn't been. After all, how could he trust Dad and Dean if they were this good at hiding the truth? Sometimes, Sam even wondered if he should tell Adam, because he deserved to know. Just like Sam had deserved to know.

But he didn't, because Adam deserved a life where he wasn't scared. So, just like Dean had done with him, he held his tongue when it came to monsters. Even as they watched the Little Mermaid and Adam babbled that Ursula was a monster. He couldn't really talk yet. Dean laughed of course, and Sam wanted to correct him and tell him what actual monsters were like. But it wasn't like Adam could understand that anyway.

So, they just sat watching movies in front of the crappy motel TV, like they always did. Dean to the left – nearest to the door - Sam to the right, and Adam in the middle. Face and hands dirty from their dinner, protected by the walls of his big brothers and blissfully unaware of the horror the world hid.

Then two weeks later, Dean left on his first hunt. He was so excited, piling weapon after weapon into his duffle bag and telling Sam stories of how he was going to crush that ghost because it had hurt so many people. Sam was almost jealous of Dean as he left. He was also uncertain. It wasn't the first time he'd been left in a motel without Dean, the guy had been training for a year now. It was, however, the first time he had to take care of Adam on his own, and he didn't want to screw up. In fact, he couldn't afford to. Dad and Dean would never forgive him, and more importantly, he would never forgive himself.

Then at the door Dean said, "Watch out for Adam, huh, little bro?" And mussed up Sam's floppy hair. Sam slapped Dean's hand away indignantly and told Dean that _obviously_ the would watch out for Adam.

Dean smiled that knowing big brother smile. The one that was proud, happy and just a tiny bit insulting. A pool of warmth spread through Sam. If Dean thought he could handle this, then he could.

After he put Adam to bed that night, Sam softly turned on the TV. As a big brother that was his prerogative, after all.

SPN NPS SPN SNP SPN

As they got older, Sam often found himself in a motel with Adam while Dad and Dean went hunting. He didn't know how Dean did it really, with school and the amount of girlfriends, Sam was starting to think his brother might have a talent after all. Once in a while, Sam went along. As actual workforce, too. Adam would stay safely in the warded car or holed up at Bobby's.

Most of the time though, it was Adam and Sam in the same room. Which was fine, because Sam loved his little brother. Really, he did. Even at times like this, when Adam was letting out a stream of constant nagging.

"Sa-ham," Adam whined, managing to turn a one syllable word into a two syllable complaint.

"Adam." Sam replied, resolutely not looking up from his Spanish grammar exercises.

"When do you think they'll be back?" Adam continued in the same tone, sitting next to Sam and looking over his shoulder. Sam sighed. No need to ask who 'they' were; Dad and Dean had been gone for almost two weeks. He didn't _know_ when they'd be back, but he hoped soon. Money was running out and Sam wondered, not for the first time, how Dean always managed to make ends meet. Then again, he probably didn't want to know.

"I don't know, just like I didn't know the other fifty time that you asked." Sam answered, this time closing his school books. For some reason he was having a hard time concentrating today.

"Don't you want them to come back?" Adam questioned, obviously annoyed by Sam's lack of enthusiasm at the prospect of the two older Winchesters returning.

"Of course I do, I just don't think they'll come back any faster if you keep asking about them." that wasn't a lie. He did want his family back. Alive. Unhurt. Unmangled by the werewolf they were hunting. That wasn't the way the world worked though. Not for the Winchesters anyway. It was just wishful thinking. And wishful thinking had never helped anyone, it just brought disappointment and hurt. That was something Sam had learnt pretty early in life.

One look at Adam's hurt face though, and Sam wished he could take back his words. He shouldn't let Adam worry, just like Dean had never let him worry as a kid. Maybe wishful thinking did help sometimes, when just for a moment you could believe everything would be alright.

So Sam lied, "They'll be back soon, you'll see." Then he cast a distraction, "Wanna help me make dinner?"

It was only mac'n'cheese, not exactly much to cook. Pretty unhealthy, too. But Adam smiled and nodded enthusiastically, so Sam would take that as a win.

When the two older Winchesters came stumbling into the motel-room later that night, Dad was concussed and Dean was bleeding like a stuck pig. With Dad's double vision, and his shaking fingers, he didn't dare to stitch Dean up. So the job fell to Sam.

At thirteen years old, Sam had never stitched up a real breathing person before. He'd practiced on animal skins and leather of course, but his skills had never been needed. Instead, he'd always been delegated to 'Adam-duty', keeping the kid from seeing all the blood and gore that came with the hunting life.

Now, a bent needle and a box of tooth floss were tossed in his hands as Dad anxiously pushed against Dean's wound in an attempt to stop the blood-flow. Sam moved closer, threading the floss through the needle and nearly puking as he caught sight of all the blood on Dean. There was a bottle of some kind of strong alcohol on the table and Sam poured it liberally over the wound. It hissed slightly, and Sam wondered if it was infused with holy water. He wondered if that was even supposed to happen. Usually Dean would get a shot to ease the pain. He wasn't conscious now though, just dead weight in a bed.

Sam was about to put the bottle back when Dad told him to take a sip. "Liquid courage son, it'll ease the nerves."

It didn't ease the nerves, but for some reason in managed to steady his shaking hands as he stuck the needle deep into Dean's flesh. Dean didn't yell, didn't grunt, didn't even wake up. He just twitched half-heartedly every time Sam touched the wound. It took half an hour and twenty-two stitches before the bleeding stopped entirely. Dean didn't wake up once.

Dad took over after that. Bandaged Dean's chest with stuttering hands (guilty hands, Sam thought), cast a blanket over the boy, then in a gesture so intimate that Sam felt he had to look away, brushed Dean's hair aside and laid a kiss on his forehead. Dad stumbled back into a chair then, head in his hands and crusty blood under his finger nails. Sam wondered if he should go over and comfort his father, tell the man it wasn't his fault. It was what Dean would have done.

But Sam couldn't move, couldn't stop staring at the blood on his hands and he abandoned needle on the floor. Dean's blood. The needle he had used to save – hurt – Dean. There was just silence now. Steady breathing from Dean, laboured pants from Dad. Somewhere behind all of it, Adam sobbing.

That was what got Sam moving in the end. He jerked his head to the right, looked straight in Adam's teary eyes. He was just a kid, eight years old, and he shouldn't have been seeing these things. With lurching moves, Sam turned towards Adam to console him. Then he saw the blood on his hands and thought better of it, standing stock still in the middle of the room. Adam had his face hidden behind his hands and Sam hoped more than he'd ever hoped anything that the kid hadn't seen what he had done.

"You did good, kid." Dad's voice sounded through the room. Hoarse, tired, worried. Something hot flared suddenly in Sam's chest. He realised he didn't want Dad to be proud that he'd stitched up his bleeding brother. He didn't want to stitch up his bleeding brother at all. So he said nothing, and John continued with a slurred voice, "How 'bout you get Adam to bed. I'll keep an eye on Dean tonight."

Sam nodded jerkily and moved towards Adam. Making sure to have wiped the blood off his hands, he reached over to his brother. He hoped his voice didn't shake when he whispered, "You hear what Dad said? Let's get you to bed."

Adam looked up at him with wet eyes, and Sam wiped the tears from his face on autopilot.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Adam asked with a small voice. This time Sam _knew_ his voice wouldn't be strong enough to answer. He swallowed convulsively against whatever was lodged in his throat, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.

It was Dad who answered instead, voice softer, with a look that spoke of a innocence he was trying to protect, "Dean'll be fine. Sam fixed him up."

For a moment Dad and Adam stared at each other, as if they were each trying to find the lie, the chink in the armour of the other. Then Adam nodded solemnly and looked back at Sam. The look on his little brother's face made Sam ache in places he didn't know he possessed. That look, he'd felt before, morphing his own face as he looked at Dean.

Sam gave a wobbly smile and took Adam to brush his teeth. While Adam got into his pyjama, Sam scrubbed his hands until the only red was his own irritated skin. Then he slunk in bed beside Adam, throwing a protective arm over his little shoulders. He looked over his pillow at Dean, who lay still as a statue. For a moment he locked eyes with Dad. There was mourning in the man's eyes. Over Dean, over lost childhoods or lost wives, Sam didn't know.

Other things he _did_ know. He knew he wasn't going to die on a motel-room bed with his brothers attempting to stitch him up. He wasn't going to spend the rest of his life in fear of his family's deaths.

He decided right then that this was not going to be his life. Not forever.

SPN NPS SPN SNP SPN

November 2nd was always the worst day. It was strange, really, how all four of them mourned a woman that only two of them had ever known. She wasn't even Adam's mom, but he would cry for her like she was. He didn't get it when he was younger, didn't understand the strange silence that had strained that day for as far back as Sam could remember. He had tried to explain, but it was difficult to explain something he barely understood himself. Of course, Dad and Dean weren't much help, one drowning in booze while the other locked himself in a room with their one photo album.

Sometimes Sam would wonder about Adam's mother on that day. He would wonder why Mary Winchester got an entire day of grief dedicated to her, while Katy Milligan only got a sad remark and a bowed head. It wasn't fair. And as Adam grew up, Sam saw him notice the same. He saw the moment his brother came to realise that his mother just wasn't as important as theirs. Each year after that, it would break Sam's heart.

That wasn't the worst part though, the worst part wasn't even how much effort both Dad and Dean put into _not_ mentioning Sam's part in the whole thing. The two of them would talk of it sometimes, only on this one day every year. They would talk about 'the room' where it happened. Never 'Sam's nursery'. They would say she was suspended on the ceiling. Never 'over Sam's crib'. It was always 'when you were a baby'. Never 'when you were exactly six months old'.

That was how Sam knew that they had made the same connections he had. That they, too, had realised that if he wasn't the cause of the incident, he might someday still feel its effects. Sam wondered if Mary Winchester would have thought the same. If she would have subconsciously attributed her own death to him. He would never know. He would never know _her._

And that was the worst part.

SPN NPS SPN SNP SPN

The first time Sam landed in the hospital for something really bad was on November 3rd 1996. The Winchesters, still fresh on the grief of Mary, had taken a hunt and naturally it had completely gone to hell. A mere two hours into their hike through the forest, they'd come across the witch they were looking for. Ironically, she had lived in a hut in the forest, poisoning wells and turning trees into murderers. Usually the locals didn't have much trouble with her, but then she started targeting hikers and she could no longer be ignored.

She looked like a typical fairy-tale witch, something that Dean told Sam was actually pretty rare. Tangled grey hair, wrinkled face, black dress, and behold, an actual wart on her nose. Her very image made Sam's skin crawl and made him feel like he had to sniff himself to see if he smelled like a child. He hadn't showered in two days, so according to _The Witches_ he should be safe, right? His heart pounded faster at the idea of Adam in the car down the hill. At ten, he was bound to smell like a child and Sam had never felt more grateful for how heavily warded and salted the Impala was.

That, Adam sitting goose in the car, was something that Sam had argued fiercely about with this father. They were arguing a lot these days. Sam thought Dad was being too much of a general, and not enough of a father. Dad thought that Sam's words were disrespectful and insubordinate. Especially around this time of year, when Mom's death was so fresh all the words came out harsher than they were supposed to be. Though Sam knew that, he just couldn't stop himself sometimes. They'd agreed in the end though. Or, Sam had agreed to shut his mouth, and they'd whispered quick apologies because you didn't go into a hunt angry.

So, Sam was fully expecting Dad to fight the witch, then get back to Adam before dawn.

To Sam's utter surprise, John didn't move to incapacitate the witch immediately. On the contrary, he struck up some friendly conversation. For a few minutes Sam thought that maybe they could talk this through and that everything would be fine. Then Dean's 'happy-hunting-grin' had turned upside down. Sam wasn't sure, why, at first. Then he caught the flitting of Dean's eyes, he heard the cracking of branches and the rustle of leaves as they shook. There was no wind though, not even the slightest breath of air in the warm summer night. Sam gripped the knife in his hand harder, knuckles turning white as Dean stepped closer, arm stretched as if he could shield his brother with that one limb. The Glock in his right hand was raised now, safety off and ready to fire.

"Those hikers are of little importance in the grander scheme of things," the witch croaked wisely, long finger raised in warning.

Dad simply narrowed his eyes, finger twitching on the trigger of his shotgun when the leaves rustled again, "Those hikers were people. And you killed them."

The witch shrugged, then looked past Dad and locked eyes with Sam. There was something assessing about the look, like a dog smelling out a bone. Sam felt every hair on his neck stand up in anticipation of what he knew was about to come. Sure enough, when the witch next opened her mouth she spoke of Sam, "Now your son there, he _is_ interesting."

With a flash of wobbly fire and the silence of the woods, Dad and Dean were thrown aside. Not far, not dangerous, just out of the witch's way. The she was in front of Sam, fingers reaching for his cheek and he wanted to stab her there and then. But she was human. And Winchesters didn't kill humans.

"No! Sammy!" Dean yelled in desperation as Sam heard him scrambling to get up. Dad cursed up a storm, but it was no use.

Sam was backing away from the witches prying hands, feet stumbling until his back hit a tree that he could have sworn wasn't there before. It was like Lord of the Rings, he thought, his vaguely terrified mind coming with useless information.

"The power you have, boy…" The witch whispered in awe as she let her hands glide over Sam's face. He flinched away, but there was nowhere to go and she continued, "The evil in your veins…"

Suddenly she looked up at him in shock, her head shaking back and forth as she stared into his eyes. Sam felt his skin crawl, he felt every emotion bubble and come forward like the woman could summon his very thoughts.

"I am truly sorry," the witch whispered as a branch from the tree impaled him from the back, "But you cannot be allowed to fulfil your fate."

With morbid curiosity, Sam saw the branch coming out through his side, then retracting again. It was like someone had set a thousand fire ants loose in his body. Like every nerve converged to that very spot in his side. Somehow he had the presence of mind, or maybe the reflex, of lurching forward with his knife. He pulled it back as blood welled up in the witches jugular and his knees gave way.

Two strong hands engulfed him. Then another two. Dean's face swam between trees and Dad's voice echoed over the rustling of leaves. After that things got strange.

Sam had vague memories of being carried through the forest, of frantic voices and a beautiful starry sky. He could remember the soft leather of the Impala and Adam's panicked voice. There were orders from Dad and there was Dean telling Adam that Sam would be fine, that they just had to fix him up and he'd be good as new.

"Huh, Sammy?" Dean asked with a squeak to his voice that Sam didn't think he'd ever heard.

The motor of the Impala rumbled. Smooth, soothing, reliable, like she always was. Sam allowed himself to slip away to the touch of Dean's hand, with Adam's voice filling his ears and the smell of blood and leather in his nose.

Then time came in flashes, green eyes over his face small hands on his shoulders, shaky hands on the wheel. Later, masked faces and bright lights. Soothing hands from too nice nurses. Then finally, _finally_ white. Pristine, sterile white that burned his eyes and antiseptic that attacked his nostrils.

Sam's eyes fell on Dad, seated by the bed with his head in his hands and a weary slump in his shoulders. For a moment Sam was privy to a moment so private, that he was sure he would never see it again. This man next to him was defeated, torn at over and over by the horrors of the world. Sam remembered what the date had been when they were hunting. November 3rd. Two consecutive days of grief would have felled Dad. He'd lost so much and still had so much to lose and for the first time in a while, Sam felt his heart constrict for his father.

 _Why do you do this to us, Dad?_ He wondered. _Why do you do this to yourself?_

Dad looked up, as if sensing Sam's thoughts. The eyes that met his were tired, but obviously happy to see him awake, and the smile that greeted was more genuine than the entire first five years of Sam's life. Not a word was said, but Sam knew how to carry a conversation without words, like any brother of Dean would. Looks and gestures could to more sometimes.

Now, the way that Dad reached out and pulled the line of one of the IV's in Sam's arm straight said more about the fear the man had felt than any words ever could. It had been a long time since he'd been alone with his father, just the two of them without Dean or Adam. It was refreshing almost. Natural.

Then Adam came bounding into the room with gasp of, "SAM!"

Dean strolled in behind Adam and tossed dirty looks at the frowning patients in the other beds (and how come Sam was only seeing them now?) when they shushed his little brother. Adam was very happy to see Sam awake, and very impressed by the scar his wound would leave behind.

"Chicks dig that, Sam." Dean agreed with a laugh, then with a wink, "You might even manage to get some action with one of the nurses…"

When Sam turned beet-red, Adam snorted too. Dad simply shook his head as he tried to hide a smile. While Sam usually had no problem whatsoever believing that Dean had flirted with every single nurse on the floor, something in his eyes made Sam do a double take. It was like the green had grown harder, walls raised higher than they were before. Sam hated when that happened, when Dean shuttered himself from the world.

Looking closer at Adam, though, he could see the same happening to his little brother. Shutters drawn, walls being built a brick at a time. A hospital visit at a time, perhaps. He'd done this to his brothers, and he ache in his chest grew stronger.

Two weeks later, when Sam lay in bed beside Adam, he heard his brother whisper in the dark.

"I was really scared that you would die." came the soft voice.

Sam forced his heart-rate down, forced the pain lines from his eyes, and the walls around his mind. Then he looked down at Adam with a smile, "You shouldn't worry about that, you know Dean will always save me."

And as Sam looked over at Dean's from, the older brother's breathing just a little too steady to be real, Sam new it was true.

He also wished it wasn't.

 _ **TBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note:_ Big thank you to eveyrone who followed and favourited but especially those lovely people who reviewed! This chapter was much harder to write and I hope I didn't over-do the angst... Just to let you know, the story _is_ finished, and I'll be adding the next two chapters over the course of the next week... Enjoy!

 ** _Chapter 2: Nonviolent Resistance_**

Flagstaff was awesome. Sure, the streets were filthy and the city is mostly industrial, with huge industrial parks lining the outskirts and trucks thundering over the road every few minutes. But for the first time in his life Sam was well and truly without his family. And it was glorious. He had part-time job at the local shop, did errands here and there, and with that money managed to feed himself and squat in a rundown house. It was also in here in Flagstaff that he met the best dog in the entire world; Bones. Bones, because that and skin had been all the dog was when Sam found him.

Sam was lucky to have the job, he knew, lucky that there was no school and he could work. He'd heard from the guy in the shop where he worked that there was a law against begging in this town, which seemed a little harsh in Sam's opinion. It didn't matter though, because he didn't need to beg. And there was no loud father here, ordering him around like some kind of soldier. And Dean and Adam had each other, so that was fine.

It wasn't like Sam was expecting his time here to last forever. He wasn't stupid. Sooner or later his family would show up, and they would drag him back. Kicking and screaming if they had to, probably. He would have so much to tell Adam after this. The kid had started asking questions when he turned seven, curious about literally everything. _Why is the sky blue? Why do we have so many guns?_ And so on. Dean had just grinned and shoved Adam towards Sam.

"It's your turn, dude." He would say, referring to Sam's endless mantra of questions. So Sam had answered them patiently (and sometimes not so patiently). Then the dreaded questions came: _Where does Dad go? Why does it take him so long to come back? Why do we put salt in front of the door?_

To Sam's dismay, they told Adam about the 'shadow-world' when he was eight. Also about his mother, who had apparently been killed by a ghoul. The kid was quiet for two days, then he seemed to have decided that it was cool to be the son of a hunter, and he'd become eager to learn as much as he could about shooting and killing monsters. At first Sam had hoped that Adam, with a curious nature so like his own, would also start questioning Dad. That he, too, would start seeing that the way they were raised was _wrong_. Instead, it was Sam the young Winchester had started interrogating. _Why did Sam fight with Dad so much? Didn't he see that Dad was just doing what was best for them?_

This line of questions was undoubtedly a product of Dean and Adam recently growing closer together. It had happened pretty naturally because Sam wasn't exactly the guy you wanted to be around when you were all excited for a hunt. Also, with Dean no longer in school and Adam finishing much earlier than Sam, the two spent long afternoons together. So the roles had shifted, where Sam used to be their youngest's primary caretaker, Dean had slowly started taking over the role.

Secretly, he also thought that his brothers were putting themselves up as a frontier against the arguments between him and Dad. That was good, Sam mused. It would make it easier on his brothers when he finally did leave forever.

And he would, eventually.

Now, as Sam walked down the road to the shop where he worked, he'd been free for two blissful weeks. Two weeks in a broken shack with Bones. Two weeks without nicknames or guns to clean. Two weeks without gruelling training and fearing whatever hunt his family was on. Because they wouldn't hunt, not with him missing. No, they'd be looking for him instead.

Wouldn't they?

"Hey, Sam!" Jimmy called out. He owned the shop. The guy was tiny, Sam already towering over him, but he was nice, too. He made sure to know how both his customers and his employees were doing every day, and he kindly turned a blind eye to Sam's blatantly false ID.

Picking up a box of candy that needed to be unpacked and thrusting it into Sam's arms, Jimmy said, "There was someone here for you just now. Asked where you lived, said he was your brother."

"Was he tall? Blond hair? Green eyes?" Sam asked anxiously.

"Yeah, that's him. You know 'im?" Jimmy asked.

Sam's hands stilled over the Mars-bars in the box, his mind racing. They'd caught up with him. Already. If they'd been here they'd be at where he was staying pretty soon, if they weren't already. It was just Dean that Jimmy had seen though. Which was good, because Dean would at least give him some time to pack and find Bones a home.

Oh, Bones…

"You okay?" Jimmy asked, then more worried, "Don't worry I didn't tell him where you live… Not that I know. Or that I should. Or… yeah."

"I'm fine," Sam said, and he was surprised to find he was. Maybe two weeks was long enough without his family. Without Dean, who had probably swaggered in here dripping with charm as he showed an old picture of Sam. And if the small fear that he'd been forgotten, which was always lodged somewhere far in the back of his head, had been dispelled now that Dean was looking for him, Sam chose to ignore it.

"You have dogs, right?" Sam asked a puzzled looking Jimmy.

"Yeah…"

"And you like my dog, right? Bones?" Sam continued, a plan forming in his mind.

"That Golden Retriever? She's adorable." Jimmy told him as a puzzled look crossed his face.

"Do you have room for another dog? 'Cause I'm going to be moving soon, and she needs a place to stay…" Sam mumbled quickly. He just wanted to get this conversation over with.

Jimmy eyed him for a moment with an unreadable look. Then he shook his head with a sigh, "I'm guessing this is your formal resignation, then?"

Sam had the dignity to look slightly chastised at those words, but he nodded reluctantly, "I'm sorry, Jim…"

Another sigh escaped Jimmy, "I'll call home to see if anyone is in, if someone is, you can leave now to bring the dog over."

A huge grin creeped across Sam's face, happiness practically oozing from his dimples. Jimmy made his way over to the company phone and called the house number. Sam couldn't hear what was being said, but after a few minutes Jimmy turned to him with a smile and a thumbs-up.

"Oh, thank you so much! Bones will be such a good girl, I promise!" Sam said, already impatiently dropping Mars-bars back in the box as he hurried out the door.

"Wait, Sam!" Jimmy called, and Sam turned on his heel, "Gonna miss you in the shop. Take care, kid."

With a sad smile and a grateful nod, Sam left the shop for the last time.

Arriving at the shack was stressful, he was half expecting to see Dean leaning on the doorframe an unimpressed eyebrow raised as a salute. But the frame was empty, and he was greeted only by the enthusiastic snuffling of Bones when he entered. He didn't even take the time to grab his stuff, he just ordered the dog to follow him; and she did. She always did.

Jimmy's house was two blocks away. He came there once when he had helped carry something from the shop. Jimmy's girlfriend, Patricia, had insisted he stay for dinner, so he had. Steaming vegetables and roasted pork had been waiting for him inside. She'd had the day off apparently, and she cooked when she was bored. As Sam neared the house again, he felt a pit grow in his stomach, if he had to eat now he knew it would all come back up in no time.

The bell was rung and two dogs started barking. Patricia opened the door and asked him an endless string of questions about where he was moving. Sam lied, of course. He was good at that, lying. After two minutes they stood awkwardly at the door. Conversation had run out, and Sam needed to go…

Kneeling on the stone path in front of the door, Sam petted Bones one last time. He made sure to scratch him behind the ears just right, and even let her lick his face. Then, with a sad voice and tears in his eyes that he was determined to keep from flooding he whispered his goodbye's to his trusty friend.

The dog seemed to sense it, whining as Sam got up again.

"Take care of her." Sam said and he hoped his voice didn't sound as thick as he thought it did. Patricia nodded sadly and Sam gave Bones her last order, "Stay, Bones-y. Stay."

Then he walked off the porch and never looked back.

By the time Sam got back to his shack, a leather-clad figure was moving over the cracked sidewalk to the bent iron gate that did very little in keeping out strangers. The gate opened with a creak, and Sam felt something clog his throat at seeing his big brother again. He could walk away now, he could turn around, never come back and Dean would never have to know. But he didn't. Because _Dean_ was here, and despite the fantastic time he'd had here, Sam had missed him more than he could describe.

Not that he _needed_ him per se, Sam told himself, it was just good to see the guy.

"Hey, jerk." Sam said unexpectedly behind Dean, and the older Winchester spun around so quickly that Sam thought he was falling over.

"Sammy?" Dean asked unnecessarily, then moved in and hugged Sam so fiercely that he felt guilt pooling in his stomach over leaving. Then he was hit over the head, slightly harder than was probably strictly necessary, before Dean told him, "What the hell, Sam? Running away?"

"I needed to get out." Sam answered simply, knowing that Dean would read between the lines. A frown marred his big brothers face at those words as he shook his head.

"Next time you need to get out, go for a fucking run. Don't just up and disappear." Dean attempted to joke, but it fell flat as Dean pulled clothes from the many corners of the filthy shack.

"I left a note." Sam defended himself, though he knew it wouldn't be good enough.

He was proven right when he heard Dean mutter, "Oh right, you left a note. That really helped when I had to explain to Dad what had happened. 'Sam disappeared, but don't worry, it's okay. Cause he left a friggin' _note.'_ Yeah. That went over well."

Sam stopped what he was doing to look at Dean. He hadn't thought about that. He'd only thought that Dean and Adam had each other so it would be okay. For half a second he stood there like an idiot, shirt still raised to throw in his duffle.

Then he said, "I'm sorry, Dean."

A sigh was the only answer, but when they left, Dean bumped his shoulder and let him ride shotgun in the Impala. That was as good an acceptance to his apology as he was going to get.

Dad was not so easy to forgive. He sat at the table, feet planted firmly on the ground and his elbows resting on his knees. Adam sat two chairs down, a small fingers running over the ancient inks of some sort of spell book. As Sam walked in he was forced to look right into his father's cold stare. A shiver of fear ran down his body, but there was something else now, too. Defiance. That was new.

Sure, Sam had been rebellious, insolent, questioning. Flat out defiant, though? It had never so much as crossed his mind. Today Sam didn't flinch back from Dad's glare. He didn't cower or nod. And he would not apologise. Not this time. Instead he caught the gaze head on. Time froze.

For a moment, Dean hovered uncertainly at Sam's shoulder, then he gravitated to Adam, who was had stopped reading and was staring at his family with wide eyes.

"Sam." Were the first words from Dad's mouth. When Sam didn't answer, he added, "Explain yourself."

"There's nothing to explain, sir." Sam answered with a deceptive calm. Dean's eyes flitted his way in something of a plea, but Sam had eyes only for his father.

"So, you're saying you don't have a valid reason for this flagrant disobeying of my orders?" Dad questioned, voice quiet.

"No, sir."

"So, there is no reason that you abandoned your family? The little brother that you would protect?" Dad's voice was slowly rising.

"Adam was perfectly safe! Dean was here."

"Is that what you do? Do you just pass your duties off to Dean? Do you expect him to take care of you and make excuses for you for the rest of your life?"

"My duties?" Sam yelled indignantly, "You wanna talk about passing off duties? How about parenting duties, Dad? _You're_ our father! It's you who should be taking care of us instead of shoving all that responsibility on Dean!"

Dad was standing now, moving in on Sam and grabbing his arm as if that would shut Sam up, "You're damn right I'm your father, Sam. And you will treat me with some respect."

"Don't you always say respect has to be earned?" Sam spat, "Well, I'll treat you with respect when you've earned it."

As the grip on Sam's arm tightened, he wondered idly if a bruise would form. Dad's raised his own arm threateningly and he wondered if for the first time in his life his father would strike him. It didn't happen. Dean stepped from whispered an alarmed, "Dad!" and the hand dropped from the air.

Instead of being hit, Sam's face was taken in a calloused hand and forced up to look at his father, who spoke, "I will teach you to respect me. In the meantime, you disobeyed my orders and you will be suitably punished."

"You never gave orders against running away." Sam sassed. He really didn't have a filter when it came to his father and he knew he was going to regret his words the moment they left his mouth.

Sure enough, "There are now. You're either here with us or you're not. Coming and going as you please is not what we do in this family. So if you ever run again, don't expect us to come looking because that'll mean you are giving up on this family."

With a scoff, Sam ripped his head from his father's hand. He didn't complain though, when he was sent out to run laps. Nor did he so much as speak a word when he was told to clean their entire arsenal before he got to shower. This was his punishment, and he had known it would come.

In bed, with Sam at the other end, and Dean in the bed next to them, Sam allowed himself to smile. Skilfully hiding he glee behind the darkness, he let himself bask in the glory his two weeks alone. Two weeks without monster and hunts and death. Whatever his family said, he had had a great time. He'd also had his first taste of freedom, and he didn't think he'd ever get enough.

Suddenly Adam spoke in a whisper, "Dean was really scared something would happen to you. He was frantic. I kept telling him that you could take care of yourself, but he wouldn't listen. I think I was kinda scared to, though. Even Dad was, I think. That's probably why he was so angry."

Sam didn't answer. He knew his voice would come out all wobbly if he did.

"Sam?"

Levelling his breathing and staring straight at the floor, Sam pretended to sleep until Adam had turned away from him in bed. It was only now that Sam contemplated his father's words. They had been spoken in anger, but he knew they were honest. Whatever Adam said, he could still tell a truth when he heard one. If he left, he would no longer be part of this family, and it stung Sam in places he hadn't known he owned. That's when he let tears flow from his eyes. He cursed Adam, and Dean, and Dad especially. The cursed his life and the choice he knew he would have to make eventually.

Because Sam loved his family, but sometimes he really hated them for wanting to make him stay.

SPN NPS SPN SNP SPN

By the time Sam was fifteen, he could write a book about his family. And it would sell, too, Sam liked to think. His English teacher in Illinois came with an essay assignment and he figured it would be easy enough. After all, Sam had long ago figured out every single way to bullshit an essay and get an A. This assignment, though, hit really close to home. It read: _If you ever had the opportunity to take a life and give it to another, who would you choose? Explain._

In Sam's life, these situations could actually happen. They almost had once or twice. So this question was something that would keep Sam up for nights. If he had to save one family member, and lose another, who would he choose? He'd compiled endless scenarios in his head, endless reactions and endless results. He'd weighed importance and role trying to figure out who this family could lose, and who it couldn't. The very thought tore through his heart like a bullet, but he needed to be prepared. Just in case.

In the end there was only one result he knew everyone could live with. One result that would free his conscience and manage not to tear the family apart. If one person in his family had to die, it needed to be him.

Sam knew his family cared about him. He knew that each of his family members would die for him, kill for him, probably sell their soul for him. If he did die, Dad would go off on a bender that he wouldn't return from for two weeks. Dean would throw himself into any and every hunt he could, just for the feel of killing something. And Adam, Adam wouldn't know what to do. He'd go quiet probably, pick up the pieces that fell from Dean's heart. So that wasn't something Sam planned to let happen. If there was ever a choice though, he would know what to choose. Because Sam _knew_ , down to his very bones, that losing him would not destroy the Winchesters. Not like Adam's, or Dean's or Dad's death would.

Not because they didn't love him, but because he wasn't part of the family hierarchy. The others, they all had their roles, carved in stone and irreversible. Dad was the captain, he steered them, his revenge drove the family and turned it into what it was. Dean was the older brother, protective, wise, the glue that held this family together with a whisper of his voice and a turn of his hand. Then the third member; Adam. Adorable, willing to listen, and the one spark of hope that kept their dysfunctional asses from driving off a cliff. With one of them gone there would be a hole in their family, in their planning. With Sam gone, there would just be grief.

Because he was just Sam, the afterthought, the one in between. He didn't really know _what_ his job was in this family. For the most part, they didn't pay him much attention. He was the weird one after all. With his nose in a book, with an aversion to hunting and a bad attitude (though that last one may have been just Dad's opinion).

Sometimes Sam felt like he didn't really belong in this family, like he'd come late to the Winchester show and there was just no more room. It felt like he was surrounded by badass hunters and he was just the liability in the corner, reading a book. Once, when Sam had been engrossed in some obscure work of scripture at Pastor Jim's, the thought had struck him that maybe God had sent Adam as a replacement for Sam. He was the little brother and son that Dad and Dean needed after all. Clever, hard as nails, and above all, not stubborn and insubordinate like Sam.

The thought had rooted itself in Sam's mind irrevocably, especially because he felt somehow _wrong_ sometimes. Tainted, dirty, different. He didn't know where the feeling came from, but it had been there for as long as he could remember. Especially after the dreams, the dreams of death and destruction that sometimes came true. He'd get this pit in his stomach then. What did those dreams mean? Was he psychic? Was he a monster.

And if he was a monster, what would his family do?

Sometimes Sam wondered about that. How angry would his father get? Would get angry in return? Did he have a right to be angry at all? That was something else he questioned sometimes. He argued with his father a lot, but did he really have any right to be angry at his father?

Sure, he knew that his father could have done some things better and deep in his heart he knew that his father meant well. But every fibre of his being told him that the way Dad had raised them was _wrong_. So, to a certain extent he knew he had the right to argue with this father and point out the flaws, but there was always a strange bout of guilt in his stomach.

After all, he couldn't help but think that it should be Dean rebelling. Dean, who had given so much, bled so much for this family. Dean, who had watched his entire life burn away on the ceiling of Sam's nursery and at _four_ years old had shouldered a weight that some adults could barely handle. Dean who had gotten another brother not five years later. Dean who always sacrificed himself for their happiness.

Dean should be angry.

But he never was. Instead he took it all without complaint, with _pride_ even. Sometimes Sam just couldn't handle how _good_ Dean was. It was practically saint-like, the way he did what Dad wanted.

So Sam was angry in his place. He was fuming. He was furious. He was positively _livid_.

And he said so.

That was the only way that he was needed, Sam realised with something like terror. He was needed because they loved him and because he was the only one who would speak up to their father. Even thinking it, though, he knew that that was wrong. All he did was upset the balance in the family.

In the end Sam wrote an essay about how he would have let Hitler die early and let Martin Luther King Jr. have the remaining years. It was unoriginal and his grade said as much, but if he had written what he had really come up with, he would probably have been sent to the school counsellor for self-esteem issues. That really wasn't necessary, because Sam knew that he was capable, smart and loved. He just wasn't as vital as the rest of the family.

Besides, Winchesters avoided counsellors like the plague.

SPN NPS SPN SNP SPN

When Adam was beaten three inches from his life, Sam was surprised to find that he was calm. They were at the bottom of a mineshaft, a hundred feet and mean fall under Dad and Dean. If Sam listened really closely he could hear them yelling, but he could never hear what they said. Frankly, he couldn't find it in him to care.

Because Adam was down here with him. Because Adam was hurt. And because they weren't going to get out any time soon.

There was something on Sam's leg, pressing, tearing, breaking. It hurt. A lot. That didn't matter though, because Adam was hurt worse. He stared up with dull eyes in an ashen face, breaths coming out laboured as he tried to breathe through the agony in his ribs. And his arm….

It was bent at an unnatural angle, and bleeding, and there was _bone_ sticking out.

Sam felt like puking. He really wished that Dad was here now, or Dean. Someone else, someone more experienced who would know what to do. But there was only him. His heart raced and he could practically feel his blood pressure rise, but he forced it down. He forced down the all the nausea, all the panic and reached out to Adam.

"Hey, Adam." Sam whispered. Adam flinched violently away from him. He tried again, "Adam, are you awake?"

Now Adam turned, eyes wide with panic and his breathing fast with fear. With a firm hand, Sam pressed against his brother's neck, grounding him. He didn't know what to do. He didn't have Dean's sense of humour, couldn't force a laugh for Adam to lighten the mood, he couldn't order Adam around like Dad would. He just had a mind full of panic and two wonderful examples that he could never live up to.

"Adam, you need to breathe." Sam said, louder now, "In through your nose, out through your mouth, alright?"

In. Out. In. Out. Sam could hear the air whistling down his brother's throat and into his lungs. He really wished he could get closer but his leg _wouldn't move_. So he stretched himself haphazardly and whispered things he could never for his life recall later. Anything to get his brother to calm down.

After a few minutes (hours, months, years, it felt so goddamned long) Adam's breathing calmed slightly and he managed to look up at his brother with a smile. Sam's heart clenched at the faith he saw in there.

"I'm okay." Adam told him, and Sam could practically feel the scepticism on his features. Dean called it his 'bitch-face'. Sam felt the need to bitch slap Dean when he said that.

"Sure, you're as healthy as a horse." Sam murmured, looking back up but there was only debris above him. And no longer any voices, Dad and Dean must be looking for them. Then he looked down again, and for the first time saw the blood that was leaking from between the bone and skin on his brother's arm. With is heart in his throat and his stomach halfway out of his mouth, Sam reluctantly told Adam, "I just need to stop bleeding on your arm."

Adam looked about as pleased with the idea as Sam was, but he didn't protest when Sam ripped off part of his own sleeve and pressed it gently against the wound. He did scream, though. Low and guttural, piercing right through Sam's soul. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sam heard the mantra coming from his mouth and he wondered how long he'd been saying it. He wondered how long it would take the blood to stop and how long it would take Dean to get down.

But his heart stayed slow, and his hands remained firm as he bound the bone and down to the skin with his makeshift bandage. He didn't know if it was the medically correct thing to do, but he really didn't have any other options.

Time passed only in the counting of Adam's laboured breaths and the steadily pounding agony in Sam's left leg.

Then Adam jack-knifed up in a coughing fit that Sam swore shook the entire mine. Seriously. He was almost scared that the stones above them would crumble and crush them. But they didn't, and after a while the coughing eased and Adam leaned into the hand that Sam only just noticed was on his brother's shoulder.

"You okay?" Sam asked, even though he knew it was a stupid question. He already knew what the answer would be.

Sure enough, like a true Winchester, Adam nodded. Sam almost rolled his eyes at that. At how utterly stupid their 'manly' little charade was. At how utterly stupid his _own_ manly charade was, because he knew he did the same.

A Winchester only admitted to not being okay with his dying breath. Though Sam was glad that Adam wasn't so far gone yet, he really wished the kid would just be honest.

"No you're not." Sam sighed, "Don't lie to me."

"If you know the answer, then why are you asking?" Adam snapped, then descended back into a coughing fit that sent ice into Sam's veins. He felt his hand tighten around this brother's shoulder in reflex.

"'Cause I'm annoying like that." Sam said when the thought Adam could hear him again, then with a forced smile, "Now you should probably stop talking before you tire yourself out."

There was a slight twitch in Adam's lips that Sam took as a smile, and he repressed the urge to muss up his brother's hair. While Dean did that to him mostly out of fondness, there was always an underlying worry behind the move. And Sam didn't want to betray how deep his own worry was. Not yet.

Though Sam was perfectly content with silence, he knew that like with Dean, it always set Adam on edge. He was just wracking his brain for something to say, when his brother turned to him as if to speak.

"How do you do this? How do you stay level-headed when shi-" Adam wheezed, then corrected his language as if it makes a difference, "Crap hits the fan?"

For a moment Sam couldn't answer, he was laughing too hard inside. The thought that he was at all level-headed was ridiculous when he spent half his life flying off the handle and yelling at their father. The notion that he was calm was bizarre when Sam constantly felt like his entire life was falling apart and he was holding it together with cello-tape. Like now, when he couldn't even think past the blood on Adam's arm and the wheeze in Adam's voice.

Not that Sam could actually say that. Instead laughed maniacally and shook his head, "I just breathe through it, man. I just breathe."

Adam nodded almost thoughtfully, brow knitting together in concentration as he tried to steady his breathing and calm down. Sam hoped it would work better on Adam than it did on him. Deep down, though, he knew if wouldn't. It was only a matter of time before his brother would pass out again and he really needed to stay awake. Sam thought of what Dean always did when he was in this situation. How he would just talk, ignore his 'no chick-flick moment' rule and tell Sam about life before. About Mom. And Sam would cling to the words because he never heard them any other time.

But he had never known Mom. Even if he had, Adam had had a different one.

"Man," Sam whined instead, "If I had known Dad and Dean would take this long, I would have brought a book."

Adam snorted, then whispered, "Or a TV."

"A snack, maybe." Sam continued with a smile, he remembered playing this game with Adam when they were kids. They would be sitting in the back of the Impala and they would list all the things they wished they had brought along. Even years later, Sam could tell Adam liked doing it.

"The entire kitchen." Adam whispered, and Sam grinned. This was going to escalate quickly, he thought.

By the time they had finished, Adam was bringing along a dragon and Sam was pretty sure that the kid would have thought of even stranger things if he had the breath to spare. But just breathing was growing hard for him, and Sam felt the vice around his heart go tighter.

He started talking then, about things at school. About that time that Dean had accidentally cut himself while shaving and told all the girls at school he'd gotten into a fight because a guy had said the girls at the school were slutty. Dean said the story had gotten him laid and Sam thought it might have been pity sex at the bad lie. He talked about the time that Dad had thrown his white underwear in with a red shirt and had walked around for weeks with pink underwear.

Sam talked until his voice was hoarse, and held pressure on the bleeding fracture until his fingers cramped. But Adam was still growing cold to the touch, blinking lethargically with every rattling breath.

When Dean's voice suddenly sounded through the wall Sam almost cried in relief.

"Dean!" he shouted hoarsely, "Dean, we're here!"

Booted feet came running in Sam's direction and he hoped Adam hadn't heard the crack in his voice just now. There was a call to Dad and a clatter of falling stones before Dean appeared in front of them. His green eyes were wild and dirt was streaked over his face, but Sam had never been happier to see his brother.

"Sammy?" Was Dean's first instinct as he moved closer, "You okay?"

Sam just nodded fervently and pointed at Adam. He didn't even need to say anything, because as soon as Dean got a look at their youngest brother, all attention was focussed there. Panic in his eyes and worry in his shoulders as he crouched down. Warm hands were on Adam's cheeks, patting trying to wake him up.

"Adam. Adam, wake up." Came the low whisper and Sam felt himself hoping that Dean would use one of his usual miracles and do what Sam hadn't managed to do since the last time their brother closed his eyes.

Dad came careening into their field of vision and spared Sam half a glance before he moved towards Adam. He, too, must have seen which of his sons was worse off. It was only minutes later, when Dad and Dean started lifting Adam to get him out, that Sam realised he was stuck.

Dad and Dean disappeared around the corner without so much of a word and Sam wondered in panic if they were going to leave him here. He wanted to call out for them to come back, but his voice snagged in his throat.

They would probably be right back. They were probably just getting Adam to safety before they returned for him. But the panicked voice in the back of Sam's head said. _They're not coming. They've come to the same conclusion that you have. You're not as important as Adam. They're leaving you because they need to save him._

Sam wondered why that thought hurt so much. Then Dean came running back. He lifted the stone from Sam's leg and half dragged him up. Sam barely had time to feel the relief that flooded his system when he realised that his big brother had come for him after all. Like he always did.

"How's Adam?" he heard himself asking as he tried not to concentrate on his left leg. It was bent in angles it shouldn't be able to, and every hop that Dean supported him in sent spikes of through him that were so white-hot that they blanched his vision.

"Not good. There's a helicopter coming." Dean said roughly, then distractedly, "Can you handle this pace?"

As an answer, Sam hopped a bit faster.

Two days later, as they sat around the hospital bed, Sam couldn't help but feel a sting of regret in his chest. Regret and jealousy and so much relief that his brother was alive. But as soon as Dean had arrived Sam had been forgotten. Instead, Adam hung onto Dean's every word and softly touched Dean's hand as he told Adam how worried he'd been that they would lose their youngest. While Dad sat looking at the interaction, trying and failing not to smile, Sam sat off to the side in his wheelchair.

He didn't voice how worried he had been, how his heart hadn't stopped dropping and dropping until the doctors had said Adam was safe. He didn't barge in and try to take this rare moment of open affection from his family. Nor did he point out that he'd been the one down there, the one forced to watch as Adam slowly wasted away.

Because that wouldn't be fair. This wasn't about him. This was about Adam who had nearly died, and about Dad and Dean who had saved him. The fact that Sam had been with his brother, trying to keep him awake said nothing. He'd failed to do that, after all and while they were getting out, Sam had only slowed them down instead of helping.

Again, Sam realised how much he craved freedom from his life. The same way that he never wanted to stitch up Dean again, he also did not ever want to be faced with what he had down in the mine shaft. Never again did he want to sit by and watch while his little brother faded under his hands.

What he _wanted_ was to get out.

Would that endanger Adam? Dean? Dad maybe even? Sam didn't think so. After all, _Sam_ hadn't been the one to save Adam, that had been Dean. Not for the first time, Sam realised that his family didn't really _need_ him. That maybe they would do fine without him.

Then an entirely new thought formed, somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, the realisation that he could live with that. That if they didn't need him, that meant he could leave without repercussions. That he _could_ get out _._

Watching Adam, still pale but talking avidly to Dean, Sam wondered if he could handle that.

He wondered if maybe he needed _them_.

 **TBC**

Let me know what you think :)


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: Once again, an enormous thanks to everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed. I'm sorry that I didn't reply to the reviews, but know that I read and really appreciate them. Now, on from this chick-flick moment, here's chapter 3!_

 ** _Chapter 3: Confrontation_**

Textbooks were strewn over Bobby's kitchen table, layer after layer of paper crisscrossing each other in an order that only made sense to Sam. He smirked at the memory of Adam's wide-eyed, "You're using _all_ these books? For _school_?". A bitch-face had apparently been enough of an answer and Dean had taken their youngest brother outside to do some 'fun stuff'. Like fixing broken cars. Hurray.

Writing a paper wasn't much better, but at least it was an interesting subject; the stages and outcomes of a revolution. Sam's teacher had mentioned three of the stages; campaign for the truth, nonviolent resistance and physical confrontation. All he really had to do was stick them together with a historical example. With the amount of books in Bobby's house, he'd expected that to be easy. Turned out, almost if not all of the texts in this house were solely on lore and the rest was in Japanese.

"What 'you working on?" Came Bobby's gruff voice from the door, "Looks like some heavy duty research."

Sam gave an amused huff, "It sure is, just not anything hunt-related."

"Schoolwork?"

"Yeah, and it's a pretty important paper, too. I'll need to ace this if I want to-" Sam stopped himself. He'd started the sentence without thinking and before he knew it, he was saying things he'd only ever contemplated to himself. Things like college and what he'd need to get there.

Bobby raised an expectant eyebrow, "You lose your tongue halfway through that sentence, son?"

"…If I want to apply for college." Sam whispered eventually as he firmly avoided looking at the other man. He didn't know why he said it, maybe it was because he was tired of the secret weighing on his heart. Or maybe it was just that Bobby tended to pull the truth out of him anyway.

Halfway to the fridge, Bobby's hands stilled in the air. Time froze and Sam wished he could take back the words, pluck them from the air and swallow them back down where they'd never get to see the light of day again.

"College, huh?" There was a strange timbre to the man's voice. Something between fear and pride and resignation, "Anyone know about that?"

Sam didn't say anything to that, and Bobby just nodded. The man turned back towards Sam and leant his arms on the opposite side of the table. There was a moment where the man and the boy just looked at each other. Not hostile. Not fearful. Curious, maybe.

Bobby frowned suddenly, "You really want to get out, don't ya? Not just for a break. Forever."

For a moment Sam didn't know what if he it was a question or a statement, if Bobby even expected an answer. Even then, he didn't know what to say, he didn't exactly want to drive a wedge between Bobby and himself. He would, if he answered honestly. Because either he'd come across as whiny, or he would reveal how deeply this life was tearing him apart. Neither of these things would be good. In the end Sam just nodded, eyes still trained on the coffee-stained table.

Even with his eyes diverted, Sam could tell Bobby was frowning. He could practically feel the brows knit together in thought. The nodding, too. It was almost as if the older man's nodding sent the entire world quaking.

"Why?" Came Bobby's voice eventually.

Sam's head snapped up and he looked at Bobby incredulously. He was caught completely off guard by the question and something in his stomach jumped, then curled up into a painful heap like he'd swallowed something heavy. It took him a moment to figure out the reason for his surprise, the reason the question fell onto his mind like a bombshell. Then it came to him.

No one had ever asked him _why_.

His entire family knew, to some extent, about his hatred for their lifestyle, but they had never asked him why he hated it. Dad simply expected him to live this life, whether he liked it or not. Even when the subject did come up, he always too busy giving his 'you're selfish' speech for him to think of asking Sam why. Dean, on the other hand, simply refused to acknowledge the idea that Sam would ever leave, the thought of his family falling apart simply too painful to even think about. And Adam, well he just didn't understand. He loved the life, he couldn't imagine anything better. Or that anyone would ever want to leave.

Now that Sam had to answer the question, he suddenly no longer knew the answer. Why _did_ he want to leave so badly? His family was here, it was the only life he'd ever known. And he wanted to leave that safety?

But that was it, wasn't it? It wasn't safety. It was a life full of danger, full of death and blood and gore. It was a life that had him questioning every day if his family would still be alive when he got home. It was a life that put his very teeth on edge and dragged his spirit and mind to their breaking point.

The one thing that could have made it worthwhile was his family. But every day he felt like he was separating from them more. Their lives revolved around hunting and weapons, and Sam's just didn't. Sam's world revolved around running. Fear and desperation and _getting out_. As the Winchesters' lives progressed he felt himself grow invisible, slowly disappearing into nothing. Because he was nothing without his family, but with them he wasn't what he wanted to be. He was a shadow in his own house and maybe outside in the sun he could become something more.

That was why. He needed to get out so he could become something other than a shadow, latching to the nearest thing. So he could be safe.

How was Sam supposed to put that into words?

"I just… I can't do it anymore. I can't live a life that I don't want." Sam said eventually, his eyes still boring into Bobby's. He wondered what the older man would think. They hadn't spoken in years and even then Dean and Adam had always seemed closer to Bobby than Sam had been.

Bobby simply nodded and took his baseball cap off to wipe his forehead. Then, with perfectly feigned indifference, he asked, "So, you still in for chili con carne?"

"If you're the one making it, always." Sam said with a smile.

A heavy weight had been lifted from his stomach, and he intended to replace it with Bobby's famous chili.

SPN NPS SPN SNP SPN

Sam had learnt from a very young age that if he wanted something, he had to take it. Not in a forceful, violent way necessarily, but still taking. He'd taken the last Lucky Charms with a pleading look to Dean. He'd taken liberties in school and had almost physically ripped the truth from his father's grasp one question at a time.

Even now, on a field trip, he was grabbing what he wanted with both hands. They'd gone to a local court to watch a few trials, the class fooling around and laughing at the alcoholic who had stolen a bottle of wine. Sam didn't like that, the way they ridiculed the woman. He wanted them to stop.

The clothes she was wearing were obviously the nicest she owned, but the edges were worn and the over-polished shoes were tattered. There was no one to defend her and no matter how many times she denied the charges ( _I just forgot to take it out of the shopping cart_ ) she had to pay a fine. Suddenly Sam wished he could have gotten her out. He wanted to be able to do that, to help people, to show the grey in this black and white world. To be a hero in a way that didn't involve killing someone.

So Sam went to his teacher after the trip and asked her if she had time to talk about his college applications.

"I thought you weren't sure yet if you wanted to go to college?" The teacher asked, though there was excitement in her eyes.

"I think I might want to do law school..." Sam said hesitantly, "Do you think I could do that?"

"Sam. With your grades, you could get all kinds of scholarships for pre-law! Ivy-League even! Or Stanford, or…" The teacher said, so excited she didn't even finish her sentence before she ran straight into the next one, "How about you meet me tomorrow and we look in to it?"

It was with a broad smile and a happy feeling in his chest that Sam returned home. Home, in this case, was in a rundown motel at the edge of town; room 17. The joyous feeling disappeared the moment Sam stuck out an arm to knock on the door. There were only two keys to the room and those were kept by Dean and Dad.

Whether they were home or not, the door was always locked. Now, it was slightly ajar, the knob hanging at a strange angle and splinters of wood sticking out from beneath the metal. Sam should have known the day couldn't be this good. He should have known that the happiness he was feeling would come back and bite him in the ass. That was just how life worked for a Winchester. With a reach to the pocket at the side of his bag, Sam armed himself with the silver knife he had gotten for his birthday years ago.

Hesitantly, Sam pushed against the door. It opened inwards and blew over the salt-line that Sam found to be completely intact. Not some kind of spirit then. The creak and then the bang of the door against the worn wall made him whip his head up.

Sam's heart stopped.

Because the room was empty safe for the haphazard tumble of furniture and the scrunched papers that lined every inch of the floor. On the opposite wall was blood. A large, terrifying swath of it that Sam desperately hoped wasn't one of his family members'.

The door creaked again as Sam stepped inside.

Sam knew that if he wanted something, he had to take it. Apparently whatever monster had wanted the Winchesters had thought along the same lines, because it had just plucked Sam's family right out of their home.

Dad's journal lay splayed in the middle of the room, vomiting lore and post-mortem pictures. Sam knew very little about their latest case, but he couldn't imagine anything that Dad was hunting had found them here. The hunt was two towns over after all.

Not knowing what else to do, Sam picked up the phone on Dad's nightstand. With a numbness that simultaneously gave him excruciating clarity and horrific confusion, Sam dialled the first number that came to mind.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Bobby Singer, speaking."

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"I've got the tapes." Bobby yelled as he slammed open the screen-door to his house. Sam looked up from the lore he was flipping through, practically jumping to the TV to get it ready for playing what Bobby had brought.

"Took you long enough…" Sam muttered, heart still stuttering at the disappearance of his family. He panic in his gut hadn't really stopped since he'd entered the trashed motel-room and he didn't think it would until he had his brothers and his father back at his side.

The slap to the back of Sam's head said that despite his fear, Bobby did not like his comment in the least. A gruff voice says, "I'd like to see you get classified tapes from the sheriff, Mr. Sarcasm."

"Yeah, but the sheriff gives you whatever you want." Sam said with something like a smile playing on his lips. The old shaky sheriff of Sioux Falls would do anything Bobby asked of him.

"Yeah well, there's a new one." Came the frustrated answer, "And let me tell you, Sheriff Mills was not in the least impressed by me."

The old VCR player swallowed the tape on the sixth try, dust and plastic whirred loudly within before the screen started showing any images. The images were scratchy black and whites that faded out every once in a while. There was a dark hallway and the shifting of shadows in the distance, the closest room number on the right read 17. It was illuminated by a flickering light above the door.

A press on the fast-forward button and the stilted movements showed Adam and Dean coming home. Then, hours in real life and minutes later on the television, Dad stumbled down the hall. He was weighed down by dozens of books and behind him, almost invisible in the shadows, another figure slinked into view. For others moved in sync. The front man had his head bowed and hand reached forward until it slowly turned on the knob of the door, which cracked open under superhuman strength.

"Not human at least." Bobby murmured.

Light filtered from the room into the hallway, shadows bouncing and flitting over the illuminated floor. Minutes later a female head stuck out from the door, looking to see if there was anyone in the hallway. When it proved empty, the face disappeared and reappeared moments later with a body slung over her shoulder.

Dean.

Sam clenched his right fist. Then next came a man carrying...

Dad.

The left fist clenched too. It was only when the third person came out with something on his back that Sam finally stood with a growl, all his energy focussed on not slamming his fist into the screen.

Adam.

"Fuck!" He snarled, and Bobby nodded solemnly, apparently not in the least surprised that Sam, usually polite and articulate, was swearing.

Finally the last man came out, he was the one who entered first and seemed to be the leader of the group. He subtly closed the door and looked up at the camera with a smile. Then he _winked_ and Sam let out a gasp.

"Pause it there Bobby!" he whispered, scrambling over to the Dad's journal. It had been blood-stained, sprawled open on the floor with pictures of bloody bodies streaming over the pages. Ruffling through the pictures, Sam raised one triumphantly over his head.

"I've got it! Look at this." Sam thrust the picture of a bloody corpse into Bobby's hands. It was a man, body mutilated and digested almost beyond recognition, but the face somehow intact. The same face that was winking up at them from the screen.

Sam saw Bobby blink twice before he looked back up, "What was your Dad hunting again?"

"A ghoul." Was the answer.

"You scan over his notes." Bobby said with a nod, "I'm g'na go sharpen my machetes."

With a shuddering breath, Sam agreed. He looked over briefly at the ghoul that had taken his family from their motel-room and tried to shake of the feeling of familiarity he got when looking at that smile.

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Sam remembered quite vividly the last time he'd been at Bobby's house without his older brother. He'd stayed there for weeks with Adam while Dad was 'looking for Dean'. Sam hadn't know what had happened exactly, but he had been willing to bet that Dad knew exactly where his brother was. Also, that Dean had done something illegal to feed them.

Sam had seen it in the shifty way he moved, in the way he wore his largest too-large jacket. The way he'd said "See you later." with just slightly too much cockiness. For weeks Sam had been angry, cooking inside at how short-sighted his father was. He'd run so many laps that Adam had taken to waiting for him with a bottle of water in the morning for when he returned and never once had his little brother asked him why. Almost as if he knew, too.

Bobby had given Sam an airplane to play with, the kind of toy that he would have loved to have a mere two years before that. He'd played with it because Adam's eyes had shined every time the toy went up in the air, hanging onto Sam's lips as he wove a story of a heroic pilot in a leather jacket who always came back to his family. He'd been playing with it in the car, too, when they picked Dean up. The plane soaring just like his heart with the knowledge that Dean would soon return.

That very plane was still on the mantle-piece, staring down at Sam accusingly. _If Adam was here, he'd be playing with me,_ it said, _flying to some place where no ghoul can hurt him._ Almost two days had passed since Sam had entered an empty room, and they still had no leads.

"I think we need to set me up as bait." Sam said absentmindedly as he smoothed out a map and crossed off another warehouse that had turned out empty.

"What?" came a surprised growl from the corner of the room. Sam merely shrugged.

Bobby turned to him with a frown, "I really hope you didn't just suggest we use you as bait, you idgit. 'Cause if you did I'm gonna have to talk some sense into you and we really don't have the time."

"It makes sense, Bobby." Sam sighed, "For whatever reason, these ghouls are after us. After 'the Winchesters' and they're only missing me. They'd come and get me if I showed myself."

"And then they'd take you. What good would that do anyone?" Bobby asked, more patient this time, brow furrowing in frustrated understanding.

"You would come after me with some back-up. Get us out. Win-win." Sam answered simply.

The frown on Bobby's face deepened, "And if they kill you before I get there? Huh?"

Again, Sam just shrugged.

A loud bang sounded through the room as Bobby slammed his fist against the wooden table. The he growled an angry, "The hell kid? Do you have a death wish?"

"No. No, I really like living, that's why I want to get out of this fucked up life in the first place!" Sam shouted in return, affronted at the idea that he would want to 'take the easy way out'.

Bobby face softened. "Then why are you setting yourself up to die?"

With a swipe of his hand Sam threw the hair from his face. He was struggling to find the words to explain why he wanted to do this. The sentiment behind them was so easy and so heart-felt that Sam didn't think he could put it into words.

In the end the pleaded softly, "Cause I'd rather die a thousand times than live on a world without them. Please Bobby, you know it's the only option."

It was absolutely quiet for a few seconds. The only noises were the ticking of the clock and the whirring of the gears in Bobby's brain as he tried to come up with another way out. Finally the old man sighed.

"If you die, I swear to God, you better come back as a ghost and protect me from your family's wrath."

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The voices scarcely reached through the pounding in Sam's head. They were floating somewhere in the distance.

"They always die, don't they? The ones you love?"

"Shut up." That was Dean, Sam realised. He tried to think of why that was relevant.

Right. The plan had worked, then. He remembered now, going back to the motel-room. Sitting on a bed in the dark, looking at the blood-stained wall and wondering where his family was. The ghouls must have been hiding close by, lying in wait until he returned. Because as soon as Sam stepped out the door again, something hard had hit his head and he had known no more.

"I hear that you burned Kathy Milligan, gave her a hunter's death." Someone beside Sam stiffened, "Good for you. I would have come back to eat her otherwise.

A snarl sounded through Sam's haze. He recognised it as Adam and he attempted to open his eyes as he leaned closer to his brother to support him. Now that he his eyes were open Sam could see that he was trussed up between his brothers, Dad tied to a pole opposite them.

The man was pale, his jaw clenched in anger, but he remained silent.

It occurred to Sam how unfair life had been to John, though all his fights with this father would suggest the contrary, he _did_ in fact understand why his father had taken them down this road. He just didn't agree. Now, at the ghoul's words, he feels a pit growing in his stomach. After losing one woman he loved to a fire, John had been forced to burn the second when she died. The parallels were sickening.

A man moved closer, and Sam recognised him as the ghoul who had led the attack of their motel-room.

"My son and wife died at your hands, yet you only lost a wife. Now I'm going to take your son, and I going to eat him before your eyes." The ghoul sneered, face so close to John's that their noses almost touched.

John remained silent, a disdainful look in his eyes.

"Gentleman as a I am, I would normally give you the choice of which son you could miss most. But that doesn't really sit well with me." The ghoul continued, "You see, I distinctly remember the crying of a child as you slaughtered my own. It seems only fit that we finish this business with the same people that started it, don't you think? Poetic justice and all."

John paled slightly, but he didn't so much as blink.

"All you have to do, Winchester, is tell me which son was with you that night." The ghoul finished with a flourish.

"None of my kids were with me." John spat at the monster. It merely raised one of its thick eyebrows.

"Then I guess I will just have to kill all of them." the ghoul murmured, swiftly moving towards the three Winchester brothers.

"Me!" Dean yelled, when the ghoul slid his hand through Adam's hair, "It was me, I was there!"

"Shut up, Dean." Sam gritted out through his teeth. He could see John straining, pulling at the ropes that held him fast against the pillar.

"No you weren't!" Adam yelled fearfully, eyes wide and worried. He turned towards the ghoul in a rage, "It was me! You murdered my mother!"

Now it was Dean's turn to tell one of his brothers to shut up, and he said it in a way so similar to Sam, that Sam wondered if maybe he'd learned that phrase from his brother. There was a moment of yelling to and fro as both Sam's brothers tried to convince the ghoul. Tried to convince him that they should be the one to be eaten. God, their lives were so fucked up.

It made Sam remember, suddenly, why he wanted to leave this life and take his family with him. It made him remember how if there was a choice, he would be the one that the Winchesters could survive losing.

It made him remember how much he didn't want to see his family die.

An idea started to form in Sam's head. His brothers weren't going to like it.

"Both of you, shut the fuck up." Sam yelled, "You don't need to protect me."

The ghoul swung his head around to Sam, a malevolent glint in his eyes. "Protect you?"

"That kid you heard crying, that was me. And they know it." Sam replied calmly, his heart beating straight out of his chest.

"What?" Adam asked indignantly. At the same time, Dean snarled, "We do?"

"Both your brothers are saying the same thing, why should I listen to you?" The ghoul asked slyly.

Sam swallowed. He thought back, delved into his earliest memories, fading, lost. There was one very clear memory from before Adam. A dream. A dream so vivid and painful and real, that Sam had cried for days after. A dream of a Dad in a house with a woman, her hair dirty-blond like the mother he knew from pictures, and her smile nearly as sweet. A dream of a one-year-old who was about to lose his mother. A dream that Sam had never shared with anyone. Not even with Dean.

Sam looked the ghoul straight in the eye, oozing as much confidence as he could from his position on the floor, "Because I can prove it."

"How is that?"

"I remember what happened."

"Really?" it mocked, "You were what, five?"

"Yeah, and I watched my mother die. That's not exactly something you forget." Sam spat at the ghoul, feelings over his own mother, over Dean who had practically seen her die, clouding his vision.

"Enlighten me." The ghoul snarled.

"You couldn't see. Your eyes were gouged out, bleeding onto your face. There were two others I think. A woman and another guy. The guy was dead, Dad had probably managed to kill him." Sam started, and the ghoul growled at the mention of what Sam assumed was his son's death, "The woman was killing my mom, he was strangling her and I remember I just didn't know what to do. I saw her die, I saw her last stuttering breath as your wife's fingers crushed her windpipe. That was what distracted Dad, that was the only reason you even got a bite in. And when he punched your teeth out, you ran like the coward you are-"

The ghoul's hand shot out like lightning, grabbing Sam's throat like his wife had done to Katy Milligan all those years ago. Sam's heart raced like a freight train, he could feel the insanity in the grip on his neck. A little air managed to whistle through the fingers as he gasped, choking. He should be used to this by now actually. Every other monster seemed to have it out for his neck, so why would this one be any different?

The fingers released him. He allowed his head to fall, allowed precious sweet air into his lungs gulp by glorious gulp. Dean was ranting at the ghoul, Adam was asking him something that he couldn't understand, and Dad was growling like some beast on a chain. None of them could stop the ghoul from slipping his hands into Sam hair to pull up his head. He could almost hear Dean and Dad chastising him for his long locks. They despised his hair. Adam, though, secretly liked it. Sam could tell by the way Adam would always try to delay hair-cut day as long as possible and he way he would try to hide his smile every time Sam flaunted his hair in front of Dad.

"I'm going to enjoy gutting you." The ghoul whispered.

"Not as much as I enjoyed watching my father kill your wife." The fingers in Sam's hair tightened in warning, the same way that Dad's eyes always did when he was about to explode. Not that Sam ever took warnings into account. He was more of a 'trial and error' kind of guy. And that, he would tell himself later, was why he didn't stop pissing this thing off, "He took his time with it you know. The blade was dull, and your wife _really_ didn't want to die."

Sam was pulled up by his hair, suspended somewhere between standing and sitting by the ropes around his arms and legs. With a vicious stroke, the ghoul pulled out a knife, his hands shaking dangerously, and his eyes promising murder. Something lodged in Sam's throat as the entire world converged to that one blade. Polished, sharp and very deadly. The bright uv-light that was reflected in the shiny surface seemed to mock him.

Terror cloyed in Sam's gut. This was it, he realised. Today was the day he would die and in the end, he had chosen if for himself. Then the knife ripped through his bindings in one smooth move and Sam was taken to an altar of sorts.

Three more ghouls converged around him with flashing teeth and hungry eyes. He fought as they tied him down, but even his stubbornness was no match against the combined supernatural strength of three ghouls. Rough ropes tore at his skin as the voices of his family threatened murder and called his name.

A small cut along Sam's neck started the flow of blood. The leader lapped it up gently.

"Mmmmh." He said, "The taste of Winchester."

 _Enjoy it while you can,_ Sam thought, _you won't be enjoying anything much when Bobby gets here._

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Blood was actually kind of weird. Weird, warm, sticky stuff that ran through people's bodies and kept them alive. It connected him to Dad and Dean, and to Adam on a lesser level. It was hot and searing and Sam wondered how much of his blood was still _his._ How much was made up transfusions?

How much more was flowing from him now? Red rivulets crashing to the ground. Tongues lapping.

Someone was… Someone was screaming.

Someone else was biting and it hurt. It _hurt_. But not as much as the first few cuts.

"This blood…" someone whispered, "It tastes so much better than other blood. More potent. More powerful."

There was a reply somewhere, but Sam heard only the pounding of his heart through the red haze of pain. Red like the logo of Stanford, the lines of the pine tree drip, drip, dripping. Red like the blood of a witch that nearly killed him. _The evil in your veins_ she had said. He wondered what that was, if that was what the ghouls were tasting.

Adam was sobbing his name, he could hear that over Dean's disjointed pleas and Dad's aggressive threats. Sam's heart beat erratically, held together by a panicked terror and a stubborn will to live.

Then a shotgun went off and a ghoul's head exploded with in a shower of red. A pain ran through Sam's stomach as a scalpel slipped deeper through the skin. Pain. Red hot pain. Red hot blood.

Calloused hands.

"Sam. Wake up, boy."

Red, red, red as the world went black.

"Sammy!"

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Sam woke up empty. Like a tube of toothpaste that was empty but that kept being wrung out for those last little specks. His eyes felt glued shut but even from behind them he could sense the clean whiteness of a hospital.

He tried to move, managed to twitch a toe, a finger. Nothing more. Then hands were in his hair, loud voices with words that were just out of his reach. Memories of blood. Of red like Stanford, like the life he could have beyond this slewing of death and pain and danger.

Sam opened his eyes hesitantly, lashes sticking together. He smiled though when the saw the almost goofily happy face that Dean pulled when he managed it. Like opening his eyes was his greatest accomplishment. Adam moved closer, too, wide-eyed and smiling.

"I'm so happy you're alive." He breathed, "But impersonating me is not cool, Sam."

"You heard him, Sammy. You do that again and I'll kill you myself." Dean added, but he was still grinning and he handed Sam a glass of water to drink with so much flourish that half the liquid spilled over the sheets.

Dad stood at the back with his arms crossed and something like relief colouring his features. He also moved closer, nodding and smiling at his sons' words. For a while the man seemed to be fine with that. There was a conversation of worry and relief. Then, when Sam asked what he'd missed and Adam said, "Bobby chased Dad off the salvage yard with a shotgun." Dad suddenly cut in.

"Shouldn't you two be getting us all some lunch?" He asked. There was an order behind the question though and two Winchesters set out with growling bellies and lingering looks at Dad.

As soon as Adam and Dean had left the room, John rounded on Sam.

"What the hell did you think you were doing back there?"

Sam, who was genuinely confused as to what he had done wrong, answered, "Talking to my brothers…?"

Judging from the shade of red that Dad's face turned, that was the wrong thing to say, "Don't play dumb with me, Sam Winchester. You know damned well what you did."

"Did _when?_ _Where?"_ Sam asked in frustration, "You're gonna have to be a little more specific."

"With the ghoul, Sam. Serving yourself up on a silver platter, that was a bad move."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam yelled, "That was our _only_ move!"

"It wasn't," John said coldly, looking anywhere but at his son, "I was handling it."

Out of their own volition, Sam's eyebrows rose. He felt his mouth moving before he even realised what he was saying, "Oh, right. I forgot you could kill ghouls with your eyes. Silly me."

Dad gaped at him for a few moments and Sam really wondered what the man had expected. Had he thought that one little ghoul would be enough to cut the insolence and the sarcasm from him? Had he expected Sam's wishes for another life to bleed out with the rest of his bodily fluids?

"Sam…" Dad wiped is bow in frustration, "Your actions almost got you killed."

"But they saved you. All of you." Sam intoned and wasn't that what hunting was about anyway? Saving people? Wasn't that was Dad always said? As an afterthought, Sam added, "It saved Adam at least."

Dad looked him up and down carefully, then asked what had probably been bothering him all along, "How did you know what happened with Adam's mother?"

"Adam told me." Sam was pleased to notice his voice was steady as he lied.

"Adam can't remember what happened, he was too young." Dad replied as his eyes narrowed.

"He remembered when he was small, like two or three years old. He told me then." Sam said casually.

Dad didn't look like he believed a word Sam said, but there was also something like pain marring his features. Maybe it was the reminder that two of his sons had seen their mother die. It made Sam's heart break for him, but he knew that telling the truth would be worse.

What would Dad do if he knew Sam was a monster?

Sam shook his head. He didn't want to think about that, he didn't want to think about hunting or the fear he had felt as he had nearly been killed. Never again did he want to feel that. Never again did he want to walk into a motel and find his family missing. Never again did he want to walk out of one in the knowledge that he was setting himself up to be captured.

He was so tired of the fear, the pain and the mistrust of his family. The very thought of slipping back into a hunting life after this tore away his heart. He'd be that shadow in his own house again, the boy with one foot out the door and the other stuck in the dysfunctional muck of a family that the loved so much.

It was time to take out that foot, too. Sam would visit and help when he could, but he couldn't live his life going from a friendly fieldtrip to a murder scene. So, he stared Dad down unapologetically, a look made out of sheer stubborn defiance and determination. He'd never felt so strong before.

Suddenly, Dad deflated. He sat down in Dean's old seat and shook his head. For a few moments it was quiet. Then he sighed in defeat and leaned towards one of the many machines that was monitoring Sam.

"Ghouls are some of Earth's foulest creatures." Dad murmured, staring intently at the steady heart monitor, "You did good, coming after us."

Sam took that to mean _I'm glad you're alive._ He smiled, but he could hear the beeping of his heart skipping over a beat. Dad hesitantly reached out and swiped Sam's hair from his face. A look passed between them, almost like both of them had felt the shift in the air and understood that something irreversible had happened.

As he looked away from his father, he knew with a startling clarity that he was going to leave, even if it cost him everything he knew and loved. From the look on his father's face, troubled and somehow resigned, he knew that his father did too.

And he would never be forgiven for it.

 **Epilogue to follow...**

 _Author's Note: So, there will be a short epilogue after this, and I'm thinking of maybe doing two more chapters. One form Adam's and one from Dean's perspective. Let me know what you think :)_


	4. Chapter 4

**_Epilogue: A new regime_**

Two weeks after Sam got out of hospital, he went back to school. He applied for 10 colleges and gave Bobby's house as the address for any further post. After all, that was the last place Dad would ever look if Sam managed to get into one of these colleges.

Three months later, Pastor Jim called with a message from Bobby.

"He told me to ask you – and I'm quoting here – "Why the hell are colleges writing to you and sending their shit to my house? You wanna come pick them up maybe?". Though I'm happy to hear you're considering college, telling Bobby about it may have been a good idea."

Sam ran away one more time, knocked on Bobby's door and opened five beautiful acceptance letters. Stanford was among them and he remembered how he'd thought of the logo when his blood was running out. Like a sign. And he had a full ride to go with it.

With a quick 'thank you' to Bobby, Sam rushed back home. There he called the university and told them he would be attending. He barely even realised he was doing it, didn't give it any real thought beyond _this is my ticket out_.

With two feet out the door, and only Sam's head still half way home, he felt his heart soar.

When Dean came home with Adam in tow, he asked, "Whoa, dude. Did you get laid or something? You look like you've swallowed a happy-pill."

"Nope." Sam said. He thought _much better_.

Then his heart tumbled down from its pink little cloud. Because, looking at his brothers, he knew he couldn't say that last part. He couldn't tell them the truth.

Because if he did, they would never forgive him.

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Sam had thought, once, that college would be the solution to everything. He would get out of this life, and at the same time he would be able to make sure his family was alright. That choice, however, was not given to him as he presented his family (his father) the Stanford letter.

"I accepted." said Sam.

Dean ripped the paper from his hands and went white as a sheet when he read the first line. He didn't move and Adam leaned over his arm to see what was wrong. The youngest Winchester looked up, then. He was all shock and desolation. Deep down though, Sam could see the realisation, the understanding of what his brother needed. Eventually, Dean would find that too.

Dad, on the other hand, would not.

The argument that followed was the most epic that the Winchester household had ever seen. It shook like an earthquake and erupted like a tornado as the two most stubborn men to grace the earth held a battle of wills. Insults and accusations were thrown to and fro and then, at its peak, a fist flew and connected with Sam's face.

"Dad!" Adam yelled, stricken, as Dean jerked forward in a half-attempt to stop the fight.

It was quiet for a moment as Sam drew a light hand across his aching cheekbone. He didn't speak, he just stared his father down. Then he started moving, an unstoppable force that dragged a duffle from under his bed and threw in the precious little that he owned.

"I'm done." Sam spoke lowly as he walked towards the door. None of his family-members moved, his brothers nailed to the ground in horror of what was happening and Dad grasping at his remaining dignity.

Just as Sam reached the door, John started speaking again. His voice was as low as his son's and at least as dangerous, though he made no move to physically stop the events that were unfolding.

"You walk out that door, don't you ever come back."

Sam was never good with ultimatums, but he could read between the lines with this one. _You leave now, and you're no longer family._ A choice between numbly suffocating in this life, or living a lonely but free one where he could finally breathe.

Sam turned around in one slow deliberate move. Then he locked eyes with his father and purposely turned the knob of the door with an excruciatingly slow squeak.

Sam looked back once as he exited the room. Dean had his arm around an Adam who was clearly trying not to cry. Dad, on the other hand, was staring him down fiercely. His balled hand, the one with the skinned knuckles and Sam's cheekbone imprinted on it, was shaking like a reed.

They would be okay, Sam thought, pain tearing at his heart with the very thought. Really, they would. Because Adam had Dean and Dean had Adam. And Dad had his two useful sons left. They would be fine.

And as long as Sam was headed to Stanford. As long as he was headed _out_ of this life, he would be fine too.

At least, as fine as one could be without a family.

 _Author's note: So that was it. I'll be adding two more chapters, though, one from Adam and one from Dean's perspective. They'll appear in a while... :)_


	5. Adam

**_Adam_**

 _Author's Note: So, I'm sorry for the delay, but Adam Winchester has a lot to say… I took a few of the moments that I deemed important in Adam's life from the previous chapters, just to cast them in a different light. Dean will be focussing on other moments in the fic in the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!_

Adam was a Winchester. That was the first thing he remembered knowing with absolute certainty. He was a Winchester and he belonged with Sam, Dean and Dad. Sure, on a rational level he knew that his mother hadn't been the same as Sam and Dean's, but it didn't seem to matter. Not to his brothers at least.

All Adam's oldest memories had Sam in them, often with Dean explaining what was going on and with Dad… Well, usually _without_ Dad actually. But that was fine. Who needed a father if you had two older brothers taking care of you?

Those young years were painted in a myriad of strange-coloured motel walls in dim-lit rooms where he sat, protected, between his brothers watching TV. There was also streaming sunlight as he played soccer on concrete or a starry night sky spent in the back of the Impala giggling with Sam as Dean sat turned in his front seat to join the conversation.

As time went on and memories grew clearer, Dean disappeared in the background. He was the protector at the door. Dean was the brother with the one-liners and the cocky wink. "You'll never have to be afraid of anything as long as Sam and me are around." and "Watch out for, Adam, huh little bro?". He was also softer, Sam pointed out one night. Adam knew that, too.

Dean wasn't just the fierce block of cement that protected them, he was sloppy smiles and diner food. He was _hiya little bro's_ when he came home. He was hugs and obnoxious laughter. He was the soft hand at their brow as he declared 'no chick-flick moments'. Whatever those were.

Sam was all that and none of that. Sam was raised eyebrows and sarcastic remarks, the polite brother who could kick your ass six ways to Sunday if you didn't watch out. Sam talked about being healthy and normal as he cleaned guns to the smell of mac'n'cheese. Sam was stubborn fights with Dad, and that intense look as he listened to what others had to say. "You don't have to do everything Dad tells you to, you know." and "Wanna talk about it?"

Sam was one big contradiction, he was the stuffy smell of books and aggressive scratching of a pen as he wrote up research. He was vicious anger, worn like a medal on his sleeve, but he was also the stoic calm when the entire world fell apart. He was rational logic and overt emotion. He was the one who always talked about leaving, but he was _always_ there.

For the first eight years of Adam's life, he'd been kept in the dark as to what his family did for a living. Or, for a living was a big term; hunting wasn't exactly a paying job. At a certain point, though, it was felt necessary to christen him into the family business.

It was right after Sam stitched up Dean for the first time that Adam was told. It was a first time for him too, after all. It was the first time that he'd seen all the blood, that he'd stood in the room looking on without Sam's arm around his shoulder. Without Sam to turn him around when things turned gory. Dean often referred to it as 'Adam-duty', and up until the moment that Sam was no longer doing it, Adam hadn't realised quite how much he'd been shielded.

Usually when either Dad or Dean walked in wounded, Sam would steer Adam to the kitchen or the bathroom. There would be whispers of "Close your eyes." Or "Don't look around, okay?" and Sam would grab the medical kit as Adam closed his eyes until his brother came back. It was not until the firm hand on his shoulder was gone and Sam's usually stoic voice had gone shaky that Adam realised how much he needed it. After the first shaky stitch that Sam pulled, Adam threw his hands over his own teary eyes.

It was all wrong. Dean was strong and energetic, not the empty, silent shell that lay on the bed. Sam was steady and calm, not the shaky, panicked mess that almost failed to thread a needle. Adam closed his eyes tighter behind his hands, tears welling through them and sobs racking his frame. He didn't stop sobbing until he felt the weight of Sam's eyes on him.

Looking through his fingers, Adam saw Sam moving towards him only to stop when he looked at his hands. The sheer broken terror in his eyes wasn't something that Adam had ever thought he'd see in his big brother. Suddenly Dad was speaking and Adam looked at his father for the first time since he entered the room.

"You did good, kid." Yeah. Sam had done good, right? And Adam, too. He hoped so at least. Sam still didn't say anything or make any attempt to move, and Dad added, "How 'bout you get Adam to bed. I'll keep an eye on Dean tonight."

Adam jerked up when he heard his name. He saw that the words had finally stirred motion into his brother as well. Sam approached him slowly, the way someone would approach a scared and wounded animal. Like he was trying not to scare Adam, which was ridiculous. Adam could never be afraid of Sam.

"You hear what Dad said? Let's get you to bed." Sam appeased softly.

Adam felt tears filling his eyes again, and he let Sam wipe them from his face. He blinked a few times in an attempt to keep the water in his eyes. He needed to be strong, like Winchesters were supposed to be. Dean was really hurt and Sam had stitched him up and neither of _them_ were crying. He was supposed to be making _them_ feel better, not the other way around.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Adam asked with a small voice. He let his eyes flit to Dean's still form. Big, strong Dean. Sam didn't answer.

Dad did. He was using that voice he only used on Adam, soft and protective, "Dean'll be fine. Sam fixed him up."

Adam narrowed his eyes, appraising his father, wondering if he'd been told the truth. There didn't seem to be a lie in his eyes though. Just sadness. Or something. So Adam turned his gaze back to Sam. Because Sam would know what to do now.

Sam gave a wobbly smile and took Adam to brush his teeth. Sam scrubbed at his hands until they turned red and Adam waited just as long to leave the bathroom. When Sam was finally done, they slinked towards the bed to sleep. Adam was turned towards Dean, looking at his still form as Sam snuggled close from behind, probably looking over his head at Dean, too.

Sam's arm was slung over his shoulder. And if his hug was tighter than usual, Adam didn't say anything about it.

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It was three weeks after Adam first saw the gory parts of their life that he was told about their lives. About hunting. About everything that hid in the dark and preyed on kids like him. It scared him, blew ice into his veins and stilled his body as he retreated somewhere far into his mind. For two days he didn't speak, living in a dream state. Life passed by, he ate and slept and went to school but it was all background to the cacophony in his mind.

Monsters existed. His family had managed to keep it from him for _years_. He had trusted them and they'd lied to him all this time. That scared him almost as much as the monsters did, because maybe he didn't even really know his family. Maybe they would suddenly be as different as the world was now.

Then Adam saw them sitting at the motel-room table, eying each other in one of those silent conversations that only he had any chance of understanding. Dean's hands were smoothly running over his Glock with an oily rag as he cocked his head slightly to the side. Sam was looking up from a thick and musty book, fingers still feeling the raised lines of the ink even if he was no longer reading the words they spelled. He answered with a raised eyebrow.

And it was so _Sam and Dean_ , that Adam dared to hope that things hadn't changed quite as much as he had feared.

Adam sat opposite them, eyes roaming the table. When he looked up again, he was met with his brothers' curious stares. It took a while for him to re-find the words he had neglected over the past few days, but when he did, his brothers were listening intently.

"The monsters, they can be killed, right?" he asked, voice hoarse with lack of use.

Sam's lips twitched into a smile as his eyes flitted to the pages of his ancient book. Adam thought it was probably filled with lore on monsters that, rationally, did not exist.

"Yes." Sam said, in his clear and steady voice. "They can be killed."

"And you know how?" was the second question Adam asked his brothers.

This time, Dean replied, pushing two parts of his pistol back together with a resounding _click_. Adam wondered what monsters could be killed with the bullets of that gun.

"We'll kill any monster that ever tries to touch you." Dean said lowly. The promise was echoed in Sam's eyes as he looked between them.

Adam nodded once. Just like that, his fears had been dispersed. He should have known really, because his brothers would never let something happen to him and that was the same as things had always been. Adam breathed out, then smiled at his brothers.

"Awesome." He said and Sam and Dean smiled, too. Dad stepped in just in time to hear Adam speak, and the worried frown that had marred his face for two days disappeared like snow in the sun. He busied himself with groceries while he muttered about a hunt two towns over.

Years later, when Adam's mind ran through his childhood memories, this would be one of the clearest. Clearer than the day that Dean stumbled in, bleeding. Clearer than the day his father sat on his bed and told him the truth about the world.

This was Adam's childhood. Dean with his weapons, Sam with his books, Dad talking of a hunt and Adam basking in the promise of safety that this family offered.

Years later, when a mine-shaft gave way under Adam's feet and he fell so deep into the ground that he wondered if he'd ever get out, he thought back to that peaceful moment around the motel room table. Sam and Dean were both lunging forward. Sam, who had been closer and had one of those extendable arms, managed to clench hard fingers around Adam's arm. It didn't help, because the ground wasn't any steadier Sam's feet, and they both crashed.

Adam thought of Dean's words as he fell. _We'll kill any monster that ever tries to touch you._ It only occurred to him now that this wasn't a promise that nothing would ever hurt him. It was a promise for a revenge, for as much protection as the two older Winchester brothers could give.

Apparently, that protection did not include faulty mine-shafts.

"Hey, Adam." A hoarse whisper cut through the dark of Adam's mind. Adam wondered when exactly he'd closed his eyes. Then pain stabbed through his entire body and he decided he probably didn't want to know. Instead, he delved deeper into the dark. The cool, blissful dark.

"Adam, are you awake?" There was that voice again. Adam recognised it this time. Sam. _Sam_. And it was probably bad that he was glad that Sam was down here with him, but he couldn't help it. With the fire burning through his arm and chest, he really needed the comfort.

There was a touch to his shoulder and it _hurt_. He flinched away from the touch, turning his head to look in Sam's direction. His eyes were open now, and it was still dark but at least he could see _something_. At least he could see the outline of his big brother, steady as ever. Adam's lungs decided not to work and it was only Sam's hand on his neck that grounded him.

"Adam, you need to breathe." Sam said, louder now, and Adam couldn't help thinking _oh really, Sam, you think._ But Sam was looking Adam in the eyes like only he could, so Adam listened as he spoke again, "In through your nose, out through your mouth, alright?"

In. Out. In. Out.

The air whistled in and out and there was no air and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt like hell. It helped clear his head after a while, though. With Sam whispering in his ear _just breathe_ , _you'll be fine, we'll get out of here, ssssh._ Mostly he whispered these two words: _You're okay_.

"I'm okay." Adam said, shooting Sam a smile.

Sam obviously didn't believe a word of that, despite telling Adam the same only seconds ago. His eyebrows rose in his characteristic 'bitch-face'. Dean's description of that face was, as always, head on. Sam's lip twitched and he murmured a sardonic reply.

"Sure, you're as healthy as a horse." Then Sam looked up, as if he could will them out by staring at where they'd fallen. Considering the guy's stubbornness, Adam thought he might actually manage it. Then Sam was looking down again. At Adam. More specifically, at Adam's arm. The arm that he was very firmly trying to ignore, because it hurt so much that it felt like it was _falling off._ Or something.

"I just need to stop bleeding on your arm." Sam said as he reached out to said arm.

Adam almost flinched away, but he forced himself to stay steady, to let Sam save his life. Then Sam was ripping off part of his sleeve and pressing it against the wound and it felt like his arm was being set on fire. White spots danced in his vision and the world spun and spun. Someone screamed, and Adam realised only when he was falling into an abyss of dark bliss, that it was him.

The next time Adam came to, he shot up in panic. Because he remembered falling. He remembered Sam being there, but he couldn't feel Sam's hand on him and he didn't know where Dean was and… Air didn't come. Adam coughed up half a lung before he felt Sam's hand on his shoulder again. Right where it should be. He leaned into it, needing the comfort through the pain.

"You okay?" Sam asked evenly. Adam knew the answer to that. He was a Winchester after all, and Winchesters were always _okay_. Dad and Dean never admitted to pain, and Sam admitted to it so clinically that no one took him seriously until he was bleeding out on the bathroom floor. Yeah, this was the Winchester way, steady and sarcastic to their dying breath.

God, Adam hoped he wasn't dying. He nodded, anyway.

"No you're not." Sam sighed, then with something like pain in his voice, "Don't lie to me."

"If you know the answer, then why are you asking?" Adam snapped, pain chafing his nerves. Then his lungs rebelled again and he felt Sam's hand tighten around his shoulder. It felt like his own ribs were stabbing him in the lungs. And maybe they were…

"'Cause I'm annoying like that." Sam's voice came when the worst coughing was over, soothing with an obviously forced smile, "Now you should probably stop talking before you tire yourself out."

Adam almost smiled and let himself be engulfed in silence for a few minutes. Sam was good at silence, he could sit in it for hours. Neither Dean nor himself could handle it even half as well. So, after a while, Adam found himself talking again.

"How do you do this? How do you stay level-headed when shi-" Adam wheezed, then corrected his language as if it made a difference, "Crap hits the fan?"

Because Sam was steady as ever. Steady hands, steady voice. His breathing was calm and his voice was soothing. It was almost like, despite the world (quite literally) crashing down around them, Sam was completely in control. Dean was good with the control thing, too, but his control came out in either anger or humour. Not in calm, like Sam's did.

Sam laughed and it sounded a bit maniacal. Then he said, "I just breathe through it, man. I just breathe."

Adam nodded almost thoughtfully, brow knitting together in concentration as he tried to steady his breathing and calm down. If that was the trick, then he might be able to do it, too. Then maybe, he could stay as calm as Sam.

"Man," Sam whined through Adam's breathing exercises, "If I had known Dad and Dean would take this long, I would have brought a book."

Adam snorted. He knew this game. Sam and him used to play this in a car, back before either of them went along on hunts. They'd be seated safely behind the wards in some creepy forest or warehouse complex and Sam would think of all kinds of ways to kill the time. He liked to read to Adam, though he could never do the voices quite like Dean did them. Still, Adam would listen breathlessly, because Sam read with a kind of reverence that made everyone want to listen to what he had to say.

"Or a TV." Adam said.

This game had been his favourite though, an endless test of the imagination as to what they could bring in to kill the time. And eventually, things would get really weird. Like dragons, castles, or – one memorable time – a spare toilet seat. Adam missed this sometimes, the easy games and the easy relationship with Sam. Things had gotten more difficult over the last few years. Sam was away at school more, and Adam had found his relationship with Dean strengthening. They were a lot alike and, like Dean, he found himself wondering why his older brother was always so critical of Dad. Didn't he listen to Dean when their oldest brother said Dad was just doing his best? Couldn't he stop continuously looking for a fight? Looking for a way out?

Because Adam knew Sam was trying to leave, to escape. He hinted at it sometimes, but Adam really wished he didn't. He didn't want Sam to leave. He _needed_ Sam, even if his brother did not need him.

"A snack, maybe." Sam continued, smiling slightly.

"The entire kitchen." Adam whispered, and he could see Sam grin. He wanted to make this last.

After a while, Adam no longer had the breath to speak. Time passed in a haze of pain and laboured breaths as the world seemed to grow darker and darker. Eventually, it was only Sam's voice that he could still register over the pain.

"And Dad, mean hunter Dad, walked around with pink underwear for weeks…."

It was the rumble of Sam's voice that carried Adam into the blissful, painless dark.

The first time Adam saw light again after that, it was the bright white of a hospital room. Dad was there first, so much relief in his face that Adam almost thought he was dreaming it. How bad had it been for Dad to look like that? Then the man's calloused hands ran through his hair, and he stopped worrying all together.

Dean's green eyes hovered over him restlessly and Adam soon found himself engulfed in Dean's _very_ manly hug as he was told how much everyone had worried over him. He grinned, waiting for his older brother to tell the story of what had happened. Dean always told the best stories.

"Dude, you looked like Casper down there, you were so pale!" Dean joked off his worry, "If Sam hadn't told me it was you, I would have gone back up to grab some salt…"

At those words, Adam looked over at Sam, who was propped up in a wheelchair with his leg locked in a pristine white cast. It made his heart jolt, because he hadn't even realised Sam was hurt, the older brother had given no indication of it whatsoever. He was staring at Adam and Dean pensively and Adam realised that he was doing that a lot, lately. Staring and thinking.

Losing focus of Dean's story, Adam wondered for a second if maybe Sam was jealous because he and Dean were getting closer… Though really? That didn't seem a lot like Sam. Maybe it was just because he didn't have Adam to talk to so much anymore.

Adam vowed to talk to Sam more after that day. But when Dean pulled him back into the conversation with a heartfelt 'and congrats and your new scar, little bro!', Adam forgot all about it.

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Until the ghouls came, Adam had never known the thirst for revenge. Anger, sure. Desperation, sorrow, everything that came with never having known your own mother. But never had he felt the bone-deep need to avenge her death.

Partly, he knew, this was because he had never known her. The other part was that he had thought the ghouls who had killed his mother to be dead. That's what Dad had always said, at least.

As four monsters broke into their room and the scariest one started up a monologue (Dean said that monsters were a lot like Bond-villains in that way) Adam realised who they were and he started wondering. Had Dad lied all these years? Had he cared so little about Kathy Milligan that he had been willing to overlook her death in favour of revenge on Mary Winchester's killer?

It was no secret that Mary was more sacred than Kathy ever would be. Sam said it was because Mary was barely considered to be a mother anymore. She was more like a saint, or a martyr, according to Sam.

"I think Dad's been down this road for so long, that he doesn't know how to get back. And he did love your Mom, you know. I remember he cried for days after she died. That was good, the way he grieved your mother. Alcohol, tears and love for her kid…. That's much healthier than a bloody obsession, Adam." Sam had said one particular November 2nd. He was smart like that.

The way Dad lunged at the intruder, though… The way he spat out curses… The constricted _you, you bastard_ had Adam thinking that Dad had probably told the truth all along.

Then one of the creatures lunged at Dad while another lunged at Adam. Dean, true to his form, jumped in front of Adam at the last moment, taking a blow to the head that had him falling like a brick. Adam was next. He tried to defend himself, tried to fight off the ghoul that was taking him down, but it was to no avail. Soon his head was bouncing off the back wall, and he was slipping into unconsciousness.

At least Sam was safe.

Adam came to to the lilting voice of one of the ghouls that had captured them. He seemed to be the leader, the 'head ghoul'. Softly tugging at the bonds that kept him against the wall, he let his eyes roam over the room. They fell on Dad first, tied to a post across from them, staring down the monster with a gaze that would have laid the ghoul flat on the ground if looks could have killed. Dean was beside Adam, also trussed up. Still unconscious, too. That was barely a surprise, with the blood congealing around his temple.

It still scared Adam, though. Because Dad was too far away to talk to, Dean was unable to answer and Sam wasn't even here… He kicked out to Dean's errant foot, the one closest to Adam.

"Dean!" he hissed. Dean, obedient as ever, opened his eyes with a wince.

"Adam?" he croaked, turning to look at his brother and Adam had never felt so much relief in his life. Not since the last time one of them woke up in the hospital, at least. Adam nodded enthusiastically.

"I'm so impatient to get started on you and your boys, Winchester." The ghoul sneered, and Dad's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the monster's threat. Dean snorted, muttering something under his breath that had Adam straining to hear.

"But before I start on you, I need our missing piece… Winchester numero quatro…" the ghoul drawled. Dean's head snapped up at that, and Adam felt his own doing the same. The ghoul continued, "Don't worry, you'll be reunited with him in no time."

"You stay the _fuck_ away from him you fucking bastard!" Dean yelled, tearing at his ropes. Dad, too, was pulling at his, dark eyes boring into the ghoul. Adam felt his mouth run dry. He'd thought that at least Sam was safe.

Except he wasn't.

After what felt like days in the dark, with only some scraps and sips of water fed to them every once in a while, the 'head ghoul' sauntered in again. One of his followers was dragging a human body across the ground and Adam felt his heart clench.

He recognised it, as did Dean, judging from the tensing of the man's shoulders. It was Sam, unconscious, with blood at his temple. Their brother was completely pliant as he was trussed up between them, his head lying limp against the wall behind them.

This wasn't an accident, Adam knew. Like no other, Sam knew how to hide, how to stay out of danger. He'd hidden from Dad and Dean for two entire weeks, which was pretty much a record for anything but the demon that had killed Mary Winchester. So, Sam being here, meant that he had let himself be taken. And Adam really hoped that meant there was a plan.

After that everything went so fast, that Adam barely had time to think. First the ghoul started talking about his mother's death, and Adam felt a great monster of anger rearing out of his chest. He yelled things, screamed things. The image that he'd manufactured of his mother through the pictures he'd been given by Dad morphed into a horror scene. Blood and fire and death and he couldn't even think straight anymore.

Then the creature had said he needed Adam to die. Poetic justice. Only, Sam and Dean seemed to think differently, both offering themselves up on a platter like they meant nothing. Like they were the ones meant to die. And Sam… He was so convincing.

Adam wondered for years after how Sam had known what to say. How he'd known what happened. He remembered the surprise on Dean's face as Sam started speaking, the suspicion in Dad's eyes. By all means, Sam wasn't supposed to know what had happened to Kathy Milligan. Hell, Adam didn't even know and he'd _been_ there. Adam never had the guts to ask Sam, because he wasn't sure he even wanted to know the answer.

It didn't matter though, because the ghoul believed it and he dragged Sam away to an altar that Adam hadn't even noticed was there. Sam was tied to it, and he could hear himself yelling at the ghouls to stop, to take him, because he was the one they were looking for. It didn't make a difference.

The leading ghoul, the one that had killed Adam's mother, brought a scalpel down to Sam's neck. Blood flowed from a slice and Adam felt what little food he'd had over the past few days roil in his stomach as the ghoul leaned down and _licked_ it up.

"Mmmmh." The ghoul murmured, "The taste of Winchester."

Dad lost it. Completely. He was throwing himself against his bonds and screaming profanity so foul, that it would have had a sailor wincing. Dean was pulling at the bonds, too, tears streaming down his face. It occurred to Adam that he didn't think he'd ever seen Dean cry. Not before today at least.

"Take me! Please take me! Leave him alone!" Dean was yelling at the ghouls, then he yelled at Sam, voice breaking halfway, "Hold on, Sammy… Im'ma get you out! Just hold on…"

Those were the exact words that were echoing in Adam's head, but he didn't dare say them. He'd seen the look Sam gave him. _Don't get yourself killed, or I'll come back and haunt you_. It wouldn't make a difference anyway. The ghoul was going to kill all of them in the end, no matter what.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt. Because this ghoul had taken Adam's mother from him, had stolen any semblance of a normal life even before he could even start craving it. Before he could even know he had a brother who craved it.

And now this ghoul was going to take that brother, too.

"Sam!" Adam felt the sob rip from his throat, his brother's name tearing through his tears, "Sam…"

It seemed like hours before the doors to the warehouse opened and Bobby Singer came strutting in with three hunters at this back. Adam recognised Rufus' grumpy scowl, Caleb's determinedly tight jaw and Pastor Jim's gangly steps as they rounded on the ghouls.

One look at the altar, and Bobby's face morphed into a look of horrified guilt. The leader had his hand running through Sam's hair, bloodstained lips murmuring an assent to how good Sam's blood tasted. Another was dissecting Sam like he was a frog in a biology class, scalpel cutting through muscles and flesh in the stomach.

That ghoul didn't even have time to look up from what she was doing, before her head was flying off her shoulders in a spray of blood. The others barely had time to defend themselves against flying machetes and shotguns, but Adam wasn't watching that unfold. He saw only the way that Bobby walked to Sam, hand palming his pale face.

Over the ghouls death screams, Adam could hear Bobby's soft words, "Sam. Wake up boy."

Stubborn as ever, Sam didn't.

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The few memories Adam had of after Sam closed his eyes on the altar, were feelings more than images. Feelings of pain and hunger. Worry, sorrow, fear. Exhilaration when Sam opened his eyes, and awe when Bobby threatened Dad off the Salvage Yard with a loaded shotgun. A feeling of being at home as they rounded the Impala with Sam's wheelchair.

The first clear memory he really had after he incident, was when they were riding in the Impala, ten miles from the hospital and a month after Sam was almost eaten alive. In was spring, trees were regaining their leaves, flowers were blooming, shedding winter from their spindly stems. Everything was regaining colour in the afternoon sun, even Dad's black truck, following them over the dusty road, seemed more colourful. The sign telling them they had exited Sioux Falls flew past them so fast that Adam barely had time to realise they might not be returning here. Not after Dad and Bobby's fight.

He was still happy though. Happy that they had made it through this, had beaten the thing that had been trying to destroy Adam's family since he was only a year old. And they had come out unscathed. Well, Adam thought as he eyed Sam's hunched form, almost unscathed.

"You know, we're blood-brothers by birth and I think with that bond, we can destroy anything that comes our way and tries to tear us apart." Adam suddenly said, because wow, that sentence had formed so nicely in his head that he needed to share it.

It was absolutely quiet for a few seconds. Just the rumble of the engine and the rolling of the wheels cutting through the silence.

Then Dean said with a laugh, "Aren't you a poetic little shit?"

Sam raised his eyebrows accordingly, a smirk turning the corners of his mouth.

Adam rolled his eyes (and wondered when he'd taken over that habit from Sam), as he said, "You can blame Sam and all the Dr. Seuss books he used to read me."

Sam chuckled in that way he did when he pretended to be offended by something, "Don't even pretend you didn't like those stories, dude. You know you loved green eggs and ham."

Adam grinned, he'd never tell anyone how he loved the way Sam said _Sam-I-am_. Leaning back against the back seat of the Impala, he hoped his life would be like this forever. Revenge on the thing that had killed his Mom, two brothers at his side, a father at his back and the best ride in the universe eating asphalt under him. This was truly life as a Winchester.

A month later, Sam left for Stanford.

He was Adam's big brother. He had always been there. And now he was leaving. As the door slammed on his older brother's back and Dean pulled him close enough to bruise, Adam wondered how this family would ever survive without Sam.

 _If_ this family would ever survive without Sam.

 ** _Dean's POV up next..._**


End file.
